What Makes A Man
by ladygris
Summary: He awoke in a hospital with no memory, injured and told he was a hero.  Who is he?  What is he?  And will he find his way back home?
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing related to Stargate: Atlantis save the plotline of this story and all original characters who appear. Any resemblance between these original characters and any other person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and not the intent of the author.

**Author's Note:** This is another of what I'm starting to call "prayer meeting epiphanies." This one came to me in the middle of Friday night prayer last week and wouldn't leave me alone. So, while I work on Postlude and plod along with that story, I am also working feverishly on this one to get it out and on paper. :) I plan to post three times a week on this, though I'm not certain if it'll be M, W, F or T, Th, S. Also so you know, there's a lot in my RL that's going on right now, which affects how I write. I pray it doesn't interfere too terribly as I'm amazingly excited about this story. As always, a huge thank you goes out to **theicemenace** for her patience in beta-ing the work as well as brainstorming the idea. The same thank you goes out to **Ani-maniac494** for the same things. Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

His eyes fluttered open and promptly clenched shut against the light. He let out a deep breath, feeling the ache in his chest as he did so. It grew the longer he remained awake, as did the pain in his head. Feeling brave enough to try again, he forced his eyelids open and squinted as he looked around.

He lay in a bed under a window, flat on his back so that the light poured over his entire body. He felt the warmth from the sunshine and was grateful for the light blanket. Turning his head slowly, he saw that movable screens had been placed on either side of his bed, leaving his feet exposed to the ward. He lifted his head, trying to look around, and couldn't stop the groan from escaping. Other beds filled the large, bright room, though he saw no other patients in this hospital. And no sounds other than distant voices and the occasional rattle reached his ears.

Dropping his head back on the pillow, he took stock of his injuries. He'd been hit in the head. Or so he thought. And his ribs hurt. Something had been wrapped around his midsection, and his hands moved to feel the gauze there. His eyes turned every which way, taking in the paned window above his head, dappled with shade from a tree, and the ceramic and mosaic tile that covered the floor and part of the way up the walls.

"Hello?" His voice echoed.

No one answered his call.

"Helloooo?" He held out the final syllable a little longer, working to keep himself calm. He couldn't remember anything about his situation, and that frightened him. He clearly knew this was a hospital, but things like how he got here and why he was here just refused to come to mind.

Still, no one answered his call.

Panic bubbled in his chest, but he pushed it down. It would only make him unreasonable. He needed a clear head if he was to figure out where he was. Ignoring the pain and grinding his teeth to keep the groan from escaping, he used his elbows to push himself into an upright position. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he blinked at his bare feet. Where were his shoes? Or shouldn't slippers be available at least?

Placing his feet on the cold floor, he took a deep breath and held his ribs as he pushed himself to his feet. He wore little more than a pair of boxers, but the white gauze covered much of his torso. He spied a robe hanging on a peg next to the bed and slowly reached for it. Taking several deep breaths against the pain, he pulled the robe around his shoulders and tied it around his waist. By the time he accomplished this, he was ready to collapse back into bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead, and he steadied himself on the built-in cabinet that held a large, metal bowl.

Once he'd taken a few moments to recover some strength, he attempted his first step. He managed two more steps before his legs gave out and he crashed to the ground. This time, he wasn't able to keep the cry from escaping as his injured ribs jarred on the hard floor. The screen on that side of the bed—the one he'd used to try and catch himself—tipped over and clattered as it, too, bounced to the ground. The commotion upset the metal bowl, and it added its own unique tone to the clatter.

Lying on the floor, he tried to regain his breath and climb back to his feet. But he was unable to do more than attempt to roll over before footsteps sounded. He twisted his head in time to see a woman wearing a white, ankle-length dress with a high collar rush through the door. She had a square white cap on her head, and her brown hair was pulled into a bun at the back of her head. He smiled slightly, figuring he might try a little charm. "Mind helpin' a guy out?"

She gave him an exasperated look. "You shouldn't be out of bed."

"Ah. . .yeah, about that." He accepted her help, surprised at her strength—or was it his weakness?—as he draped an arm over her shoulder. "I called, but no one answered." He ended his explanation with a grunt as he jarred his ribs.

She didn't answer him as she helped him settle back into bed. Rather than taking his robe, she simply pulled the blanket over his feet. "Remain here. I will get the doctor."

"Yeah, but. . . ."

She left before he could say much more.

Rather than lying down, he propped himself up on his elbows, again ignoring the pain in favor of looking around. Now that one of the screens partitioning his bed was down, he saw that he was the only patient in this ward. The door had been left open, and he saw several other women pass, wearing the same type of clothing as his nurse. Finally, that particular lady returned, trailed by a man wearing a tweed suit. Two more nurses rushed into the room and began setting things to rights.

The man came over to the bed, his bushy beard parting in a smile. "You are a stubborn one."

"Ah. . .yeah. Listen, I have a lot of questions." He lay back down, allowing the doctor to examine him. Once the painful exam was complete, he frowned. "Where am I?"

"You are in the veteran's hospital of Talgrom. You were brought here a week ago, severely injured and unconscious. It seems you took the concussive blast of a grenade rather than allowing your comrades to take it."

He blinked. Why couldn't he recall any of this? "Grenade?"

"Yes." The doctor settled on the edge of the bed in lieu of a chair. "I warned your comrades that you might have greater injuries than what we already found. There's just so much about the mind that we don't know. Maybe you can tell us your name? Where you're from?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came to mind. No name. No home. No place of birth. Nothing. He frowned and stared at the doctor.

The doctor scowled. "You remember nothing?"

He tried to answer, to say that he remembered more than waking here. But everything was just. . .blank. Gone.

The doctor's face cleared. "Well, your comrades have already told us that you are called 'Evan.'"

"That's my name?" he asked.

The doctor nodded.

Evan. It was as good a name as any, he supposed. He looked at the doctor. "Tell me how I got here."

oOo

Dr. Jennifer Keller waited in her office as Sheppard and his team walked through the door. She didn't want to appear too eager, but she needed news. Wanted news. Anything would be better than this not knowing.

He'd been gone for two weeks now. Two long weeks without his dry wit and blue eyes to make her blush. Two weeks during which Colonel Sheppard emptied the city in search of his second-in-command. Two weeks during which she'd wondered if she'd made a mistake.

Sheppard headed her way, a scowl darkening his face. "Hey, Doc."

"Colonel." She offered a small smile. "Have you found anything?"

"No." He shrugged, his glare melting away when he saw her and shifting to something resembling sympathy. "We've searched every planet in the area and found nothing. Not even his transponder signal."

She allowed herself to feel the impact of those words. If Evan's subcutaneous transponder had been removed, then he was likely in the hands of someone far more advanced than the people on the planet where he'd gone missing.

Sheppard obviously saw that thought cross her face. He reached out and took her elbow. "Hey, we're gonna find him."

"I know." She met Sheppard's eyes. "It's just. . . ."

"You two were close."

"Yeah." Jennifer refused to blush, but she couldn't stop the way her heart raced at the thought that Evan Lorne would walk through the door any second. Just seeing him would be enough for her to throw herself in his arms and ignore the gossip and stares and consequences.

Sheppard nodded. "I'm sorry I don't have better news."

"You'll find him," she said, nodding as she spoke. She wished she could convince herself of that.

"We won't give up until we do." Sheppard left her then, something Jennifer appreciated. She didn't want him to see how she escaped to her office let out the tears that had threatened for two weeks.

When Evan first went missing, she'd assumed it would be like any other time. He'd be gone for a day or two and return in the company of his team, a little worse for the wear. Nothing could have prepared her for his two-week absence. And it looked to get much longer. Jennifer refused to think about why it mattered that he was gone, but she couldn't quite get his face out of her mind.

Where was he? When Colonel Sheppard returned to the planet after his last mission, they'd been told he'd gone through the gate. Of course, the city had been war-torn and in ruins. The intelligence was sketchy, at best, and Sheppard stayed in orbit long enough to get some readings. Lorne's transponder was not transmitting, something that could indicate it had been cut out of his arm or that he'd been shocked with a massive amount of electricity. Or that he was dead.

Jennifer let out a deep breath at that possibility. He wasn't dead. He couldn't be dead. Not when she still felt his warm arms around her as he kissed her intently.

Her face heated, and she scrubbed at the tears that had escaped. She'd resolved not to think about that night in the infirmary, but it came out in small moments. Part of her regretted her actions, knowing that she'd been tired from an exhausting day. The other part of her, the woman in her, knew she wanted to experience that every day for the rest of her life. But she and Evan had gone back to the way things were, always ignoring the pink and purple polka dotted elephant sitting in the room with them. Even his team refused to comment, though they hovered like brothers when she left the infirmary.

They were going to find him. They _had_ to find him. Jennifer refused to entertain any other thoughts on the matter.

oOo

Night had fallen some time ago, and Evan still did not sleep. He'd been moved to a different bed in the same ward, one with a chair next to it now that he was awake. He felt the stiffness brought on by days on his back, and his ribs ached from the jarring they'd taken when he fell. But he could now get out of bed and sit up for a while.

The moonlight played over the sheets on the bed, creating shadows and valleys in the darkness. _I watched my leaden soldiers go, with different uniforms and drills, among the bed-clothes, through the hills. . . ._ Evan frowned at the wisp of a poem, wishing he could recall the rest of it. But his mind refused to unlock its secrets.

Earlier that day, the doctor, whose name Evan had forgotten, told him that his memories may not return. It was an iffy situation, and Evan had been left with the impression that he could be restored to his normal self at any possible moment. _Anything, even the smallest breeze that triggers a memory, could be the catalyst._ Had that happened tonight? Was there something familiar about this time of night that unlocked his subconscious? Was it the woman whose face he could still see? Or was he imaging a woman who no longer lived? Or one who didn't exist?

The questions multiplied as he stared at the sheets on the bed. The woman was alive. He was sure of it. And he would find her one day.

Rather than returning to bed, he reached for the tablet of paper next to his bed. The doctor had left it, saying he may want to write some things down as he remembered. He grabbed up the pencil and held it, poised to capture whatever came to mind. Instead, after writing down the poetic snippet, he began doodling.

His dreams had awakened him. He'd heard shouts, felt heat, knew thirst. The doctor said this might happen, that he may have flashbacks until he fully remembered. At least they weren't treating him like the enemy. He'd halfway expected them to lock him in prison rather than giving him a bed with a much better view.

As he though, he doodled. His mind wandered, thinking over his dream. He'd seen himself doing things that he couldn't comprehend, setting small, round objects in the ground. Shouting orders. But he could never discern what he said. He'd seen his face in the mirror when the nurse shaved him. It was lined in places, indicating that he smiled a lot but had also seen many different horrors. War? Or something smaller?

The woman appeared on his paper, and Evan frowned. Her smile made her eyes sparkle, and his mind added coloring to the sketch. Who was she? Why did her blond hair stir such a longing in him to return to his home? Where was his home?

Setting aside the pad, Evan pushed to his feet and shuffled over to the window. Looking out, he saw an immaculate lawn dotted with trees that shaded benches. His nurse had hinted that he may be allowed out there tomorrow, when the day warmed. Maybe something about his life would jar into place.

Glancing back at the bed, he let out another breath. Did he stand here at the window and stare out at the night? Or did he try to sleep again? He turned from the window and slipped into bed. This hospital was quiet at night, with only the occasional voice interrupting. He should be able to sleep.

So why was he so restless?

Turning the tablet so he could see the picture, he smiled. He saw this woman clearly in his mind. And he knew she meant something to him. But what? His mind conjured images of her as she gazed up at him, her brown eyes startled and lips parted. In his daydream, he kissed her, and she responded in kind.

Evan closed his eyes against the daydream, knowing it was really a memory, something that had been taken from him. And he could torture himself by trying to remember who she was and what was so important about this woman. He refused to do that. He needed to get better. Needed to recover. Then, and only then, could he entertain thoughts about returning home to the one woman who meant the world to him.

But, when he returned home—wherever that was—would she still be waiting for him?

Pushing the thought out of his head, he stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

~TBC

**Author's Note II:** The wisp of a poem is from Robert Louis Stevenson's "The Land of Counterpane."


	2. Chapter 2

Evan woke the next morning to the sound of a nurse settling another patient in the same ward. He blinked the gritty feeling from his eyes, thankful for the warmth of the sun coming through the window. He still could not recall anything that had happened before yesterday, but the long night had ended. Somehow, the sunlight made everything seem less overwhelming.

He shifted in his bed, drawing the nurse with his actions. She smiled at him, her brown hair curled around the sides, and he nodded once before reaching up to rub his face. She apparently decided that he'd just awakened from sleep and left him alone. Evan carefully pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his robe. After trudging across the ward to the bathroom, he risked a glance at his ward-mate before settling back into his little cubicle. The other patient slept, so he made as little noise as possible.

Rather than climbing back into bed, Evan sat in the chair. His body ached from his fall yesterday as well as the inactivity. He'd caught glimpses of himself in the tiny mirror of the bathroom and knew that he wasn't accustomed to just sitting around. He was accustomed to hard work, and he wished he could remember what that hard labor was. But, right now, his mind was as fuzzy as it had been when he regained consciousness.

He reached for the pad of paper that he'd used last night. Some of the doodles had a dreamlike quality to them, unfocused and without much detail. But one was pristine. The woman stood with her arms crossed, a smile on her face and bringing out eyes that sparkled with life. Evan couldn't remember her name or how he knew her, but his mind filled in the color. Her eyes were brown, a warm chocolate color that sparkled with bits of gold when one looked closely. Her blond hair caught the sunlight on most days, creating a halo around her head. And she always had that smile for him.

Who was she? His wife? Girl? He may not have remembered her name, but his heart remembered her. It clenched in his chest, leaving him with the niggling sensation that he'd left her behind. If he could only remember who he was and where he was from, he might find this woman waiting for him.

The nurse interrupted his thoughts, bringing his breakfast. It was the same one as yesterday, and she smiled as she set his tray on his lap. Evan thanked her and quietly ate the food, not complaining. She straightened his bed, checked on the other patient, and then left him alone again. By the time he finished eating, he felt the desire to walk about, to stretch muscles unused for too long, burning in the back of his brain. But he needed clothing first.

The nurse returned, her hands filled with folds of white fabric and leaving him wondering if she'd read his mind. "Do you need some help?"

"Ah. . ." He shook his head slightly. "No."

She smirked, telling him without speaking that she'd known the answer before she asked. When she left him alone, Evan slipped out of the robe and carefully dressed. His ribs ached horribly, and his head had started pounding a while ago. But he refused to take anything for it. He was alive, and feeling pain meant something. Who knew whether the medications they'd used on him had caused this fuzziness?

Tired of the questions, Evan draped his robe over the foot of his bed and settled back into his chair. Unfortunately, the questions would not stop. Did they intend to keep him here and treat him like an invalid? He wasn't disabled, just without memory. Reaching for his sketch pad, he spent the next little while trying to stave off boredom.

The doctor came while he drew curlicues around yet another picture of the unnamed woman. Evan glanced up and set aside the drawing. "Hey, Doc."

"You sound better today." The doctor perched on the edge of his bed. "I am Andren."

Evan smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Yes, well, you were in sorry shape when they brought you in here. You had multiple cuts that required many stitches in addition to severely bruised ribs and. . . ." Andren pointed to Evan's head.

Evan nodded. "Yeah. I've. . .ah. . .been trying to remember things, and I can't."

"I knew you would." Andren smiled, his well-kept beard stretching and reminding Evan of someone close to him. Father, maybe? Or was it his grandfather? He wished he could remember. Andren sat back slightly. "That's why I've asked Josus to come in today. He's the one who brought you to us and told us about what you'd done. He'll be here in a few hours."

"Oh, good." Evan nodded. "Though, with another patient here in the ward, wouldn't it be better for us to speak elsewhere?"

"Right you are." Andren smiled. "How would you like to head outside today?"

Evan's eyes went to the window, and he nearly ran for the door. Rather than giving in to impulse, he grinned a the doctor. "Sounds great."

"I'll make sure Jadina returns with a wheelchair."

"With all due respect, Doc, I'd rather walk." Evan couldn't tell where the request came from, but he refused to act like an invalid. "If something happens, _then_ I'll use the wheelchair."

Andren eyed him for a moment. "Very well." He pushed to his feet and caught sight of the tablet Evan had been using. He pointed. "May I?"

Evan shrugged and watched Andren's expressions as he perused the sketches.

The doctor's eyebrows rose and lowered as he turned the three pages. "You are quite the artist, Evan."

"Thanks." Evan shrugged. "Last night, I just drew what I dreamed."

Andren flipped back to the first page, looking at the fuzzy images and nodding. "I wish I could tell you when your memory will return, but, as I said, we know so little about the human brain. It could be one little thing that triggers it." His voice trailed off. "This woman is striking." He turned the tablet to show the image that Evan had sketched over and over.

"That she is," Evan agreed.

Andren's head came up. "You know who she is?"

"No." Evan rubbed his face. "Well, I think I do, but I can't remember a name. Just her face. And that she's. . .important."

"Wife, maybe?"

Evan glanced at his left hand, looking for something. "I. . .don't know."

Andren put a hand on his shoulder. "We'll figure it out." He set the tablet down. "Who knows? She may be the one to help you recover your memories."

"Maybe." Evan didn't say anything else as Andren left. He stared at the notepad. Who was the woman? Where was she? Did she wait at home for him to return? And why did he keep looking at his left hand when he thought about whether she could be his wife or not?

oOo

Sheppard stormed out of Woolsey's office and ignored the surprised glances coming from the control room. That man had no idea what it was like to live in Pegasus. He already wanted to declare Lorne MIA and promote Teldy to take his place. Sheppard had no doubt that Teldy would make an excellent second-in-command as she'd already taken up the slack caused by Lorne's absence. But she wasn't Lorne. While Sheppard had no problems with having Teldy as his second-in-command, he wasn't happy with Lorne's disappearance.

Something just wasn't right. He mulled it over in his mind as he walked toward the infirmary. Lorne had completely disappeared, and they had found no trace of him. No one on any of the worlds they visited had seen him. And Sheppard knew Lorne wasn't the type to go AWOL. The Air Force was his life, and Lorne would likely die before he retired. Sheppard's issues with Teldy taking Lorne's place stemmed from this firm belief that they'd missed something back on the original planet.

Besides, they shouldn't be giving up the search just yet. Sheppard knew they had five planets left to search, those that McKay had pulled off the DHD crystals on Orenth. _Woolsey_ knew that. He should never have broached the subject until they'd exhausted their search. But Woolsey hadn't been in Pegasus all that long. He'd struggled to make the right decisions when Keller had nearly turned into a Wraith hive ship. Protocol was everything for a person like Woolsey, and Sheppard realized that Keller's brush with death, to mention nothing of Ronon's betrayal and subsequent detox, hadn't yet softened the man to the realities of life in Atlantis. He hadn't been here long enough.

McKay appeared just as Sheppard wanted to hit something. "Oh, hey. How'd it go?"

Sheppard glared.

"That good?" McKay shrugged. "It's Woolsey."

"It shouldn't be happening, Rodney." John stopped and stared at him. "You saw how badly Keller took the news that Lorne wasn't returning. How do you think she'd react when she found out he'd been declared MIA? How do you think the base will react? Lorne wasn't just my second-in-command. He's one of the finest officers on this base, and he deserves the same respect as anyone else."

"Hey, I know all that." McKay turned toward the infirmary, his fingers already flying over the tablet he carried. "I already did the math. If we pull another fifty addresses off the DHD crystals on the planets we have left to search, we wind up with a grand total of. . . ."

"Five hundred planets," John answered. "Just from the last five planets. If we total all fifty planets, with about fifty addresses each, we get over two thousand."

"Well, twenty-five hundred, to be exact." McKay wilted as Sheppard stole his thunder.

Sheppard held up a finger. "But, what happens if these last five hundred planets don't have signs of Lorne on them and we pull another fifty off each DHD? It just balloons out of control."

"All I'm saying is that it's only five hundred planets."

"_Only_ five hundred?" Sheppard glared at him. "That's a lot, Rodney."

"Well, it's better than the twenty-five hundred or thousands or millions that are in the Pegasus galaxy."

Sheppard admitted that McKay had a point. "No matter what happened, Lorne would have contacted us by now if he'd been able. That means he's either held captive or. . . ."

"Don't even say it," McKay cautioned as they entered the infirmary.

Keller glanced up from where she worked on Ronon's latest sparring accident. The Satedan had taken the disappearance of one of his friends badly, and he spent most evenings taking it out on the new Marines. Fortunately, Lorne's team wasn't part of that group.

Sheppard moved to the hospital bed where Ronon watched Keller finish stitching his arm. "How ya doing, buddy?"

Ronon glared. "Fine."

Sheppard turned to Keller. "Is he okay for a mission?"

Her eyes widened. "Another one?"

Sheppard glanced at McKay, who immediately began trying to engage Ronon in conversation, as he took her elbow and gently led her away from Ronon's side. "We're down to five planets left to search. That'll only last this week, provided we don't run into trouble. After that, Woolsey's said he's calling off the search to focus on new exploration. We'll be allowed to continue the search on our travels, but we won't be devoting multiple teams to it."

Sheppard watched that news hit her squarely in the face. She closed her eyes and nodded. When she opened her eyes, they held something Sheppard hadn't seen in a long time. He'd seen it in the mirror when Nancy left him. "Okay," she said in a trembling voice. "Just. . .let me know how things go out there."

"You got it." Sheppard squeezed her elbow once before leaving. He'd known that Lorne and the doc had feelings for one another, but he hadn't known that they'd _acted_ on those feelings until Lorne hadn't come back. Then, she'd virtually run from the infirmary as she dissolved into tears. They'd done a remarkable job keeping everything under the radar because the gossip going around Atlantis indicated that their relationship was relatively new.

Thirty minutes later, Sheppard flew a Jumper through the wormhole intent on bringing his second-in-command home. He returned three hours later, angry and empty-handed. That evening, while sparring with Teyla, he admitted the truth to himself. Lorne may never come home. Sheppard just hoped that Woolsey would be proven wrong. Otherwise, one of the best CMOs Atlantis had ever had would grieve for the remainder of her life.

oOo

That afternoon, Evan slowly walked out of the hospital and into the sun. He wore a white tunic-like shirt with loose white pants. Apparently it was their hospital attire for men. He found them quite comfortable and was grateful that his behind wasn't sticking out.

After that thought, Evan stopped and frowned. Why would he think something so strange? Glancing around, he saw that all the patients wore the same outfit he had or, if they were women, a long dress with lace along the high neck and long sleeves. No one had their behinds exposed to anyone.

Knowing that Jadina, the nurse, followed with a wheelchair, he kept moving. His sore muscles complained, but he enjoyed the activity. Sitting next to his bed, listening to the other patient in the ward groan in pain as she tossed and turned in the bed, simply didn't appeal. Not any longer. He wanted to get out of here, to try and figure out who he was and where he needed to go. And he would start that in just a few moments.

Josus, the man that Andren said would meet him, sat under a tree, the bench completely shaded and somewhat isolated from the main pathway. Evan padded over the soft grass, his feet barely making a sound, as he approached the man. Josus looked comfortable, but Evan recognized the tension in his shoulders and the way his eyes watched every person that approached. When he saw Evan, he pushed to his feet and walked over. Easily six-and-a-half feet tall, he had the gaunt appearance of one who'd gone without food for too long and had spent too much time in the sun. His blue eyes were hard, and Evan blinked. Those were the eyes of a survivor.

Josus nodded slowly, almost in a bow, as he approached. "Evan. It was good to hear that you are recovering."

"Yeah." Evan nodded and settled on the bench, his aching ribs easing a touch. "If you can say that a crack on the head and bruised ribs is 'recovering.'" He made a motion, as if putting quotations around the final word, as he spoke.

Josus gave him a strange look. "You've been unconscious for a week. Andren was unsure as to whether you would ever recover. And, now, he tells me you cannot remember."

Evan shook his head. "I wish I could." He narrowed his eyes. "I keep trying but. . . ." He shrugged rather than finishing that sentence. Turning to Josus, he asked, "Can you tell me what we did out there?"

"What _we_ did?" Josus seemed surprised. "You mean, what _you_ did out there."

"Sorry?" Evan's eyebrows rose to his hairline. What was Josus talking about? Andren said something about them escaping, not that _he_ had escaped.

Josus shook his head, a sardonic grin coming to his face. "You were a newcomer to the camp. There was always something about you. I knew you weren't from this world, that you'd come from somewhere, maybe the same place the Ancestors spoke of in their writings. But you never said. Just went to work. And helped five of us escape."

"The POW camp?"

"Yes." Josus's eyes took on a distant look, and his good-natured expression slipped, allowing the anger and lingering trauma to appear. "You organized us. Even when the first four of our group fell, you would not let us stop. Yelling and pushing us down the path, your words always of encouragement. I don't know who you really are or where you're really from, Evan, but you're a commander. Born and bred."

"A commander?"

Josus nodded. "There's no other way to describe it. You planned our escape like it was a top-secret campaign to infiltrate enemy territory. And maybe it was. I don't know." Josus fell silent. "It was difficult to hear that you had no memory of who you even were. I looked forward to getting to know the man who saved my life."

Staring at the older man as he struggled with his emotions, Evan wondered if it were better that he did not remember. He'd only been at the camp for a week, according to this guy, and he wasn't certain he wanted to know everything that had happened. Maybe that was the cause of the amnesia. Then, he shook his head. If his amnesia were brought on by trauma, he'd be in worse condition than a crack on the head and bruised ribs.

What if it were about the woman he kept drawing? For some reason, Evan's heart clenched when the thought about all the things that could possibly have been done to her. And his still-muddled mind surely wasn't thinking up the really bad stuff.

Beside him, Josus heaved a sigh. "Well, at least it wasn't the Wraith."

Evan blinked. "The who?"

"Wraith." Josus looked at him as if he'd gone mad. "I thought for sure you'd remember the Wraith."

Evan shook his head.

"They come from the sky, always from the sky." Josus's eyes went to the blue expanse overhead. "They're hideous, and they cull whenever they can, taking as many as they can find. I've never seen one of them feed, but I've heard stories. And it's never a good story."

"Feed?"

"Yes." Josus glanced at him again. "The Wraith feed on humans. Somehow, they drain the life out of you. We've been fortunate in Talgrom to never really see the sort of horror that causes. But some of us think that it will come one day. And, when it does come, it won't matter who's side you were on in this war. Only which one dies first."

Evan opened his mouth to ask more questions but held them in by sheer willpower. He wanted to know what war Josus spoke of, why it was so important, what advantage they could gain on these Wraith, and so many other things. But Josus's eyes had closed, as if he'd turned off the flow of information. And something in Evan warned him against pushing the man for information.

Josus turned suddenly. "I should probably get back." He jabbed a thumb over his finger toward the three-story red brick building next to Evan's hospital. "I'm staying over there for now. But I'll be out here daily if you're able to join me."

Evan nodded and stuck out his hand. "Thanks for the information."

Josus frowned slightly and shook his head. "Wish there was more I could do." Then, he stood and walked away, his own feet silent on the grass.

Evan sat for a few more moments, trying to digest everything that Josus had said. He was a hero? Part of him wished to remember what he'd done, but Josus's words led him to believe he might be better off not remembering. After all, it would put the same shadows in his eyes as were in Josus's eyes.

Jadina returned before he'd had a chance to fully absorb everything. He pushed to his feet, breathed in the fresh air, and let her escort him back inside. He hated being a convalescent, but these people weren't about to release him from the hospital just yet. Andren had visited him again, just before he came outside, telling him that he wanted to keep Evan in the hospital for a few more days. He hoped his memory would return in that time. If it didn't, then Evan would need to find a place to stay.

Back inside, Evan settled in the chair and reached for the sketch pad. He looked over the vague images from his dreams last night. The only clear one was the woman. He wished he knew who she was. He wished he knew who _he_ was. The frustration of not knowing his own name or family lineage rose, and he tossed the tablet back onto the counter with more force than necessary.

oOo

_He sat on a bed. His hospital bed. But he wasn't wearing his hospital attire. The tunic had been replaced by a thick, heavy black vest, and weapons of some sort sat next to him, dark on the white sheets. He looked around, trying to see a location, when she appeared._

_Standing straight, she walked toward him, her gray uniform pants whispering in the silence. He knew it was late by the tired expression on her face and the way her blond curls had gone limp. But she'd never looked more beautiful to him. He stared at her, feeling his own exhaustion and an unwillingness to fight what he felt for her._

_He loved this woman. He was sure of it._

_They talked, but he couldn't tell the topic. Only the sound of her voice. Warm. Rich. High notes with a dusky undertone. He let it roll over him as he tried to listen. But the words got lost in the haze of her nearness. When she looked up from the screen before her, he caught her brown eyes and held the gaze for a long moment._

_Then, she leaned toward him. He didn't have to be told a second time. He just leaned in and kissed her. She returned the kiss, sighing as he pulled her into his arms. Knowing that this shouldn't happen, he deepened the kiss, determined to enjoy the one moment of weakness, this one time when no one was looking._

_She started to ease back first, and he allowed her. But she kept her eyes closed, and he loved the way she touched her lips. Savoring the taste of her kiss, he smiled._

Evan woke to the silence of the hospital ward and the emptiness of his mind. He remembered the kiss, but nothing surrounding it. Pushing the covers back, he walked barefoot to the chair and let the cool night air prickle his skin as he sat and drew her face in the moonlight. As his pencil scratched along the paper, he let out a deep sigh.

One day, he would find her. And, when he did, he would finish the words he'd started to say to her. Maybe, when that happened, he'd remember.

~TBC


	3. Chapter 3

The next week passed in predictable fashion. Evan stayed in the hospital ward, twiddling is thumbs and nearly going insane from boredom. He woke in the middle of the nights, usually drawing some sort of dream-picture and staring at it until his eyes ached. Something about these dreams were important, but he could not place what. He dreamed of the woman over and over, each time drawing her in a different light, or different way. Her smile, her sparkling eyes, her hands, her head thrown back in laughter, her scowl. He drew the weapons on the bed next to him just before he kissed her. He sketched himself as he saw his reflection in a mirror, spending hours on the minor details of the pockets, the sipper, the clip for the weapon he clearly remembered attaching to it. But, when he sat back and tried to look at the bigger picture, nothing came to mind.

A week after his first meeting with Josus, Evan sat in his chair and rubbed his eyes. He'd been up too early that morning, awakening from a dream before dawn and unable to return to sleep. For the first time since he'd awakened, he hadn't dreamed about the woman. He usually saw her somewhere in his dreams, and not seeing her there had shaken him. Was she still as important to him? He thought so, but. . . .

Letting out a deep sigh, he rose and walked to the window. He should have gone home by now. But where would he go? It wasn't like he _had_ a home. Or did he? Every time he dreamed of the woman, he felt like he was in a familiar place, but none of the details became apparent. Forcing his memory wasn't working, and he set his hands on his hips as he debated his options.

He could remain in the hospital with no memory and wither away here. Or, he could get on with life, returning to his old one when he finally remembered._ If_ he remembered. Evan ran a hand over his face. What if he could never remembered who he was? He allowed his hand to remain over his mouth and shook his head. That wasn't an option. One day, he would remember. And, when he did, he'd find the woman. If she'd moved on, he would cope and leave her to her life. If she hadn't. . . .He would be lying to say that hopes of a happy reunion hadn't already crossed his mind. Every time he dreamed of their kiss, he also daydreamed of repeating that kiss whenever he found her. He wanted to know if it was all his imagination or if they were just as good in real life as they were in his dreams.

"Evan." Andren's voice yanked him out of his thoughts, and he turned.

"Hey, Doc." Evan motioned to the chair and perched on the edge of the bed. "How are you?"

"I'm fine." Andren smiled and picked up the sketch pad. Evan had given him permission to browse through the sketches the second day he'd been awake, and he had taken to reviewing them each morning. Holding up the pad, Andren raised an eyebrow. "Still no recollection?"

"Other than that, no." Evan shook his head. "I'm wondering if it's all just figments of my imagination. You've never seen weapons like those before. But, when I dream, it's so real. I feel the metal in my hands, the kick of the weapon. When I'm awake, I can't remember. Well, I remember bits and pieces. But not the important stuff."

Andren just listened as he talked, his eyes assessing him. He nodded when Evan fell silent. "Well, you sound about as well as can be expected."

Evan merely shrugged in response. How could he answer that? He wanted to know who he was, and he would never truly be at peace until he found out. But that came with a caveat. He also needed to do something with himself. He could already feel the lethargy trying to creep in, and he'd never been a man to just sit around. Or so he thought. It was hard to know what was boredom and pent-up energy and what was truly him.

Rather than waiting for him to speak, Andren propped one foot on the opposite knee. "I came to see you about a place to stay." When Evan gave him a sharp look, he held up a finger. "You're almost fully recovered. In fact, I don't know that I've seen anyone recover quite as fast as you. And, while I know you enjoy Jadina's company, I'm not certain you really want to spend your days in a hospital."

Evan smirked at that. He and Jadina had become friends, but they were prickly friends. He liked to see a sparkle in her eyes, and she enjoyed trying to get under his skin. "What do you have in mind?"

"Well, I've spoken with my family, and we'd love to have you stay with us until you get your feet under you."

Evan stared. "And your family's okay with this?"

Andren waved a hand. "It's happened before, and we're happy to have you. You'll have your own room and privacy, not to mention access to the outdoors any time you want it."

Evan turned to the window. "Can I have a few moments to think about it?"

"Certainly." Andren pushed to his feet. "I'll be heading that way around the lunch hour, and I'll stop back by before I leave. Just be ready to go if you would like." He left then, allowing Evan his thoughts.

As soon as Andren disappeared, Evan reached for his shoes. He'd taken to spending time outdoors, talking to Josus if the opportunity arose. Of course, Josus wasn't always outside, and Evan had come to realize the man was haunted by what he'd seen in the camp. Evan had no doubt he'd be just as haunted, but he could not find the strength to be happy about his amnesia. Not in the way that Josus seemed to envy him. The other man talked about getting out of the hospital and going home, but Evan knew it would be a while yet. Josus had no family waiting on him. His wife had left him, and he was still a bit unstable.

Once outside, Evan settled in the bench under the large tree where he'd met Josus that first day. He stared at his hands, seeing the smudges of lead from the sketch book on the outside of his right pinky finger. Was this what was left to him? Sketching wisps of memory as they came to him in dreams? He rubbed at the smudges, but they remained, a constant reminder that he hadn't succeeded in his mission.

But what was his mission? Evan looked around. He knew he was here for a purpose. But he felt so out of place in this city. Maybe it was time for a change. Maybe getting away from the hospital environment was what he needed.

Just before noon, Jadina brought him some street clothes and left him without saying a word. She knew his preferences when dressing, and she hadn't offered to help him since that first day. He would miss her, he realized. In the way a guy misses his sister when he goes off to war.

He stopped unbuttoning his hospital tunic and frowned. Was he a soldier? It would certainly explain the weapons he'd seen in his dreams. Or was something else going on?

At noon, he waited for Andren, dressed in a high-necked white shirt, brown breeches, knee-high boots, and a brown tweed coat. A hat lay on the bed, but he hadn't put it on. He wasn't much for hats, and he knew that men wore them at their own preference. Gathering up his pencil and pad of paper, he sat in the chair, careful of his still-healing ribs but not minding the strange feel of the fabrics.

Andren appeared with a smile. "Jadina tells me you have accepted my offer."

"Yes, sir." Evan shrugged and looked around. "Ah. . .as much as I like it here, I think I'm ready for a change of scenery."

Andren laughed. "I can see that." He turned. "Shall we?"

The doctor led Evan out the front doors of the hospital and into the paved street. Evan stared at everything, wondering if he'd been here, seen this, or done that. They walked for several blocks before coming to some sort of depot. Inside, Andren and Evan joined the line of passengers filing into a long, cylindrical vehicle on a set of rails. Evan's mind supplied the word "train," though he couldn't be certain he'd ever been on one quite like this.

Beside him, Andren announced, "We've just achieved steam-powered propulsion, and it has made my time coming to work in the mornings much more enjoyable."

Evan wondered at the pride in Andren's tone. "I've seen these before," he said, motioning to the train. Then he shook his head. "At least, I think I have."

Andren laid a hand on his arm. "You'll remember one day, son. Of that, I have no doubt."

Evan wished he had no doubts.

Andren's home surprised Evan. After leaving the city, called Talgrom, the two men rode the train to an isolated depot. They disembarked, and Andren led Evan out of the tiny community that had sprung up around the depot. Birds circled overhead, their calls blending with the sound of the ocean. Salt scented the breeze, and Evan smiled. He liked it already.

Andren also smiled when Evan lifted his head and took a deep breath. "Now you understand why I live outside the city."

Rather than commenting, Evan simply nodded.

The road they'd taken dwindled to a path as the house appeared. Two stories high, it had dormer windows that looked out over the road. Lace curtains fluttered in the open windows, and the yard looked intentionally overgrown. The clapboard siding was white at one time, but weather and the ocean had weathered them to a pleasant yellow shade. Behind the house and down a rock hill, the ocean rolled in to a sandy expanse. The beach was lonely in a beautiful way.

Andren opened the white lattice gate. "Come. Maeryn and Kaela are anxious to meet you.

Evan followed him, shoving his hands into his pockets as he walked. Andren walked into the house, leaving the front door open, but Evan hesitated on the threshold. Inside, Andren greeted an older woman with gray streaks in her dark brown hair. A second woman, much younger than the first, descended the stairs. This one wore a white high-necked blouse with a lace yoke and black floor-length skirt. Her red-blond hair was up, but curls formed a halo around her heart-shaped face. A few ringlets fell forward and moved as she swept across the room. "Hello, Father."

Andren turned and kissed her cheek. "Kaela." Then, he moved back to Evan's side and motioned for him to step into the house. "Evan, meet my wife, Maeryn, and my daughter, Kaela."

Evan nodded to each of the women, not entirely sure what to say. Kaela's face turned a pleasant shade of pink when he met her eyes, and she glanced down quickly. Even without his memories, Evan recognized that action. He'd seen it often enough on. . . . He struggled to fill in the name, but his mind locked up on him again. Either way, he knew what it looked like when a woman found him attractive.

Maeryn stepped forward. "Evan, come in." She smiled, and Evan relaxed when she drew near to him. She stopped just short of touching his arm. "I've made lunch, and my husband has promised to spend the afternoon at home."

"Yes, well," Andren said, "now that my priority patient is out of the hospital, I don't have to make that trip into the city every day."

Feeling more relaxed as the conversation went on, Evan waited for Kaela to precede him before he walked into the large, eat-in kitchen. "Do all doctors live out here? Well, in homes like this."

"Goodness, no." Maeryn laughed. "This is the family home, and my husband's position as Minister of Medicine has given him the means to stay here."

"I see." Evan settled into the chair that Andren indicated, watching as Kaela slipped into the one next to him. "Minister of Medicine?"

"Yes." Andren also sat down, leaving Maeryn to serve the meal. "Our government has several different branches, called ministries. Ministry of Medicine, Ministry of War, Ministry of Finances, and so on. Our Prime Minister resides over them all."

Evan nodded and gratefully accepted the plate Maeryn put in front of him. The stew smelled wonderful, and he waited politely until the rest of the family had begun to eat. As he ate, he peppered them with as many questions as he felt was proper, listening closely to each one. Kaela seemed to lose her bashfulness as the conversation went on, and he relaxed even more. Maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to figure himself out while he was here.

After the lunch, Andren showed him to a large upstairs room, and Evan let out a deep breath at the time alone. Kaela was a beautiful woman, and she clearly knew how to draw a man's attention. She'd used it multiple times, the bashfulness just another ploy to get noticed. Evan had figured it out in the middle of the midday meal, when Maeryn glared at her daughter. It hadn't mattered. Every time she batted her eyes or flushed, his mind replaced her with another face. His dream lady, as he'd come to think of her, smiled at him, her brown eyes replacing Kaela's green ones and totally distracting him.

He may have found a place to call home for a while, but he couldn't relax. Not just yet. He had too many questions that needed answering before he would be able to say he was at peace.

oOo

Sheppard walked through the gate with his glare firmly in place. Jennifer, who had just delivered a set of reports to Woolsey, let out a deep sigh. She'd become accustomed to seeing that glare on the colonel's face, and she knew it wasn't directed at her.

Evan hadn't been found. Again.

Jennifer had kept track of Sheppard's missions and knew that this was the fourth planet on their list. They only had one more left to search before Woolsey demanded that they call off the search. The whole "Leave no man behind" motto obviously didn't matter to Woolsey, who saw only the time and energy going into the search.

Rather than waiting for Woolsey to join her, she trotted down the stairs toward Sheppard and his team. Ronon touched her elbow on the way past, his silent way of supporting her. Ever since the quarantine, she and the Satedan had shared something that fell between attraction and a sibling friendship. Nothing like what she had with Evan. And Rodney smiled weakly, clearly wanting to say something but restraining himself.

Sheppard cleared his face as he stopped in front of her. "I'm sorry."

Those two words, something she'd come to expect hearing, broke through the control Jennifer had kept on her emotions. Instead of bursting into tears, as she wanted to do, however, she blinked a few times and nodded. "Thank you, Colonel."

Sheppard narrowed his eyes. "Hey, make it 'John.'"

Jennifer smiled at him, the offer of friendship meaning more than he knew. "Thank you, John."

She left the gate room then, seeking the solitude of her office. Evan had been missing for three weeks. It had been long enough that Jennifer had secretly suspected that he would never come home. Every time she thought that, her heart clenched so tightly that she could barely breathe. If Evan didn't come home. . . .

Letting out another deep breath, Jennifer straightened in her chair. If Evan never came home, it wouldn't be because he hadn't tried to get home. Something had happened out there, and they'd been restrained from knowing exactly what. Jennifer knew that their intelligence was false, and Sheppard—John—knew it as well. He wouldn't stop looking, no matter what Woolsey said.

"One more planet," she whispered. Only one more mission before she had a decision to make. Only one more chance to answer the questions left in her mind. Only one. . . .

oOo

_The camp spread out in front of him, small wooden huts filled with men and women from several different worlds. At least, it looked that way. A flimsy fence separated the men from the women, and he knew that it did little more than segregate the prisoners when the soldiers were watching._

_A strong hand behind him shoved him forward, and he stumbled into the men's portion of the camp. He'd been stripped, given new clothing, and had his weapons removed from him. His forehead stung where he'd cut it during a half-baked escape attempt, and his ears still rung from the fighting. Or was it the blow he'd taken from the butt of a rifle? He couldn't be sure._

_A tall, gaunt man stepped forward, introducing himself as Josus. Josus seemed to be the official guide around here, and he listened as the taller man explained his situation. He was a prisoner of war, kept in this filthy compound for the angry soldiers to interrogate, torture, and otherwise humiliate because of his part in the civil war. Only, he wasn't part of this war. He was a stranger, but they wouldn't listen to him._

_He decided to escape within his first hour in the camp. He just needed to plan, to learn the guards' weaknesses, to gather a group large enough to do so. And he did. Over the course of the week, a routine became apparent. Many of these prisoners were young and frightened, but a few, like Josus, believed in his cause. He gathered as many as he could, men and women alike, and set his plan into motion. Most shook their heads and walked away. But twelve of them agreed that they could accomplish their goals._

_They enacted their plan late the evening of his seventh day in the camp. The guards weren't that smart because they allowed the prisoners too much leeway. Yes, the torture was demeaning. Yes, the interrogations were awful. He'd heard things while in the camp, things the soldiers did to the women to keep them in line. He knew he'd dream about the cries and pleas as men claiming to serve their country took advantage of women available. Four of his small strike force were women tired of enduring the nightly visits._

_Two of them were killed in the initial attempt to escape. Somehow, Josus got his hands on some grenades, and he'd used them in his plan. But Josus barely made it over the line. The two weakest women, those he wanted to protect, couldn't get there before the guards' rifles cut them down. Another five members of their tiny group fell to heavy artillery that bombarded their position. He pushed Josus to continue, kept his people going with shouts just before he triggered the last line of defense between them and freedom. It had been close, but five had escaped. Five out of twelve. He glanced over his shoulder to see that they were clear from the blast radius, primed the grenades, and dove for cover.  
><em>

_The explosion lit up the night sky._

Evan woke in a cold sweat, the images fresh in his mind. He stared at the ceiling, bile swirling in his throat as he remembered the screams of the women and the sound of the rifles. He'd lost men before, but not like that.

Pushing the covers from the bed, Evan rose and walked to the window. The sky over the ocean had barely begun to lighten, and he knew the house wouldn't be stirring for another few hours. He grabbed his sketch pad, the one possession he had to his name, and quietly padded downstairs. Out the back door, he found a small table next to the house with a lamp. Lighting the lamp, he pulled out his pencil and began to sketch.

He sketched the two women who had died. The hope on their faces when they learned his plan would forever stay with him. He drew the wood huts, chronicling the filth and disease-ridden conditions of the camp. And he drew the soldiers. Some of them were silhouettes as the grenades exploded. Others were clear. He worked quickly but always took his time with each sketch. He needed to. If his memory was going to unlock, he needed a way to make sure it was accurate. And this seemed to be the only way.

When he finished, he looked out to the ocean and let out a deep breath. He started to close the sketch pad but stopped at the second page. The woman in his dreams, the one he needed to get back to, smiled at him. And he smiled back as he touched her face.

Tired of his thoughts, Evan stood and left the porch. He walked toward the ocean, finding a well-worn path down the rocky slope and onto the beach. The tide was coming in, but he knew he would have plenty of time to walk before the beach was covered.

His pace quickened, and he felt the burn in his muscles. Liking the pain, knowing it would only strengthen him, he continued to walk faster and faster until he ran. The sand under his feet flew into the air as he tried to put as much distance between his dream and himself as possible. But he couldn't. It was in his head, fresh and clear as if it had happened yesterday. But nothing else had unlocked. He didn't want to remember torture and horror. He wanted happiness. He wanted to know who he was and what he was meant to do. Not what others had done to him.

When he could run no longer, Evan slowed. He panted in the morning air, feeling the surf roll over his shoes. His ribs ached from jarring them around so badly, but he relished the pain. It reminded him that he was alive. Unlike those two women, innocents whose lives depended on him.

"Let it go, Evan," he said softly to the morning. Turning, he started walking back the way he came. "Let it go. You can't change it, nor can you take responsibility for their deaths. They knew what they were doing and what the stakes were. Let it go."

He kept up the talk as he walked, wanting to scream or cry or something. Instead, he rolled with the pain, letting tears trickle down his face as he coped with the emotional blow. He'd likely have a lot of these. But, when his emotion was spent, he took the memories and put them in a mental box labeled "Can't Help It." The box had other things in it, but he couldn't seem to pull them out and into focus. Instead, he stuck it on the mental shelf in his mind and resolved to let himself recover in his own time.

He just wished he'd been able to do more for those who had died. And that was the greatest regret of all.

~TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note:** Contains spoilers for "Ghost In The Machine."

oOo

Kaela carefully loaded the teapot onto the tray and carried everything toward the rear of the house. She'd awakened early to the sound of the door being closed. It hadn't been loud, but her sensitive hearing had picked up every step Evan had taken across the hardwood floors of their home. Her parents still slept, but she couldn't get their house guest out of her mind.

It wasn't the first time her father had brought a patient home. Most of the time, they were indigent folks who needed to get their feet under them. Not amnesiacs attractive enough to take her breath away with the first glance.

Kaela shook her head. She wasn't a young girl anymore. At nearly twenty-three summers, she approached the age when she would be seen as a spinster. Girls on Orenth married around sixteen or seventeen summers, and Kaela had entertained hopes that she'd have at least two children by now. Instead, she remained unmarried in her father's home.

But Evan might change that. Yesterday, he'd given her a penetrating glance, and her heart thudded into her throat at the sight of his blue eyes. She'd experienced the sensation before, but she'd always been broken-hearted to learn that the man had chosen someone else. Now, with Evan not having his memory, she might stand a chance.

Of course, he might already be married. Without his memories, how could he tell them whether a woman waited for him to return? He'd seemed curious yesterday, and understandably lost. But nothing in his demeanor indicated that he had a wife. Instead, he'd sat next to her at both lunch and dinner, peppering her father with questions about the government and the city of Talgrom, things not normally discussed over the evening meal but pardonable given his circumstances. He had a quick mind and a witty sense of humor, and his eyes sparkled when he smiled. Kaela had worked her best not to stare at him, but it was difficult. Still, she managed to finish the meal with her dignity intact.

Evan sat on the back porch, his dark hair spiking while his blue eyes stared at images he'd drawn in the journal her father had provided. Kaela began to clear her throat, thinking to warn him of her presence, when he closed the journal and turned to her. His smile was distant, but the warmth in his blue eyes made up for it.

"I made some tea," she said, hating how breathless she sounded. She wasn't a young debutante any longer. She hadn't been for quite some time.

"Thanks." He sat up and put the journal aside. "I apologize if I woke you."

"Not at all." She smiled, covering the small lie as carefully as possible. "I usually wake early."

"Ah. . .yeah. Me, too."

She watched him as she poured the tea. He wore a blousy white shirt that buttoned up the front, black pants, and black suspenders that lay loosely on his shoulders. It contrasted his lightly-tanned skin quite well and made his blue eyes even more noticeable. Kaela offered him the first cup of tea, and his fingers brushed hers as she handed the cup over to him. She worked to avoid blushing as she poured herself a cup and watched him add the barest amount of sugar to his tea. Searching for something to say, she blurted, "I wish you could tell me of your home."

He smiled, revealing charming dimples. "Me, too."

Realizing what she'd just said, her face paled. "I apologize! I don't know what I was thinking to say something like that!"

"It's alright." He waved a hand and took a sip of his tea, making a face somewhere between a grimace and a grin. When he took a second sip, she supposed it to be a positive reaction to the tea. He glanced at her. "Thank you, by the way. Not many people would be willing to open their home to a stranger who knows nothing about himself."

Kaela sat forward and put her teacup on the table. "My father reads people well, Evan. He would not have brought you here if he did not trust you."

He simply smiled at her.

"He tells me you are a hero." She wanted to hear him talk more, to pull him out of his silence. Part of her wanted to hear how he'd saved the day, but another, much smaller, part of her wanted to help him remember.

"Yeah, that's what he said." He shrugged, a tiny smile hinting at the dimples she knew were there.

"It is more than that." She barely stopped herself from laying a hand on his arm. "You saved five people."

"And didn't save seven of them." His soft words, almost unheard over the roar of the ocean crashing its way to shore, hung between them.

Kaela wondered what to say to that. She knew that men died in war. She understood that it was a necessary part of life. But what about those left behind, those responsible for the safety of the ones killed? Was that Evan? Or had he just stepped into the role of commander when the opportunity arose? She didn't imagine him as one who would take an opportunity for advancement regardless of who got hurt in the process. But she could see him stepping up as a commander when the time was right.

He drew in a deep breath, licked his lips, and sighed deeply. "I'm sorry. I know it's expected in war, but. . . .I should have been able to protect them."

This time, she did put her hand on his arm, his warmth soaking through the shirt sleeve and into her palm. "You brought five of them back."

"And I had a group of twelve. Plus myself."

She narrowed her eyes, seeing the way the weight of that settled onto his shoulders. To tell him that he could have done nothing to save them would not help, and she refused to trivialize what he'd experienced. "So, you remember?"

"The escape?" Evan shrugged. "Yeah."

"That's good!" Then, Kaela realized what she'd said. "Well, that others died isn't, but. . . ."

"I knew what you meant." He smiled at her then, and her heart flipped in her chest. "Yeah, I remember. Bits and pieces. Mainly just my time here, in Talgrom. I keep hoping every day will be the day that I know who I am, but. . . ." He shrugged again.

She tightened her hold on his arm, trying to put every ounce of her belief behind that simple motion. "I have no doubt you will remember all when the time is right."

"Yeah." He set his teacup aside and turned to stare out to sea.

Seeing that he needed time, Kaela gathered the tea things and went back inside. Evan would remember in his own time. She was confident of that. The return of his memories relating to the escape meant more than he'd admitted. She just hoped his memories didn't include a woman who would lay claim to his heart. While she wasn't in love with him, she knew enough to know that she could easily fall in love with Evan if he allowed it.

oOo

Evan watched Kaela escape back inside and let out a frustrated sigh. He should never have talked about the escape. But, with the memories so fresh in his mind, he was able to think of little else. His hand stole to his ribs, which had begun to throb in earnest after he'd sat down, and he shook his head. Something in him—the macho part of him—kept him from showing Kaela just how much pain he really felt. Not all of it was emotional pain. His head had started pounding in time with his ribs, and he knew he'd have to ask Andren for something to dull it.

Looking out over the beach, Evan slouched in his chair and rubbed his forehead. He felt the grit in his eyes from restless sleep and knew the nights would likely get worse before they got better. His memories seemed intent on becoming the sharpest when he consciously forgot about them, and he'd tried to focus on other things. But, for some reason, they chose the hours just before dawn to reveal themselves.

Evan reached for his sketch pad and flipped through the pages. Today, he'd drawn grenades: round devices that he'd dug into the ground with the express purpose of killing another human being. But war was war, and soldiers dealt with those harsh realities or they went insane. Is that what happened to Josus? Had he seen so much chaos that his mind had finally fractured? He couldn't be sure.

He turned the page and pressed his lips together to keep the emotions at bay. The two women, their eyes bright with hope, stared up from the page. He'd drawn them as he remembered them from the planning session. He couldn't recall their names, but the smiles that touched their faces told of their trust in him. Trust that he'd ultimately betrayed. _Not so much "betrayed" as "failed,"_ his mind reminded him. One of the men with him had tried to go back when the women had fallen, and Evan had grabbed the man's shirt, shoving him forward and yelling for him to run. That fellow looked back and took a bullet in the chest. Evan hadn't even looked back, knowing from the amount of blood that the guy wouldn't survive.

Turning the page, Evan narrowed his eyes. He'd sketched Josus as he realized that only six of them had escaped. Evan had managed to rescue only five people from the camp, and dozens more remained behind. Josus had cried openly, and Evan had wanted to join him. Still wanted to join him.

Tired of the memories, Evan turned back to the front of the book. His dream lady smiled at him, her smile making him remember happier days. At least, his heart remembered happier days. Just the sight of that smile soothed away the mounting frustration. Suddenly, he wanted to add color to the image, to paint it onto a canvas and hang it in his room.

He frowned. Was that part of who he was? Was he an artist of some sort, one who offset the horrors of war that he'd obviously experienced with the beauty of artwork? Did he sell anything? He couldn't be certain, but he touched his dream lady's face as he made a decision. He'd speak to Andren today and see about getting some paints and canvases. Maybe, just maybe, he'd remember something worth painting.

oOo

Sheppard stood in front of the gate, watching with a heavy heart as the wormhole disengaged. They'd just sent a group of Replicators through to a space gate on the other side.

"You're sure the DHD reconfiguration worked?" Woolsey asked.

"Yes. They were sent through a space gate." McKay paused for a moment, his voice soft and uncharacteristically broken. "I guess that answers the questions as to whether it was really Elizabeth."

No one answered him. No one could. They'd returned from their last mission looking for Lorne in a Jumper. At the time, they'd debated whether Lorne had found a space-capable fighter of some kind in his escape, but that had quickly been replaced by the hassle of dealing with Replicators who had taken up residence within first the Jumper's and then Atlantis's systems. Their shock at learning that it was Elizabeth Weir's Replicator double shifted their focus from Sheppard's missing second-in-command to more pressing issues. Like surviving when Koracen, the leader of the other Replicators, decided to keep his Replicator body and take Atlantis by force.

Now, however, Sheppard stared at the gate and tried to refocus his mind. In one day, he'd betrayed the remnant of Elizabeth's consciousness _and_ also had lost any hope of keeping Lorne from being declared MIA. Woolsey was distracted right now, and he would likely be distracted for a short time. But, sometime tomorrow, he'd expect a report. And Sheppard didn't want to tell him the truth. Nor did he want to tell Jennifer.

Turning from the gate, John headed for the infirmary. Jennifer had kept her staff holed up there during the recent crisis, ready to treat wounds and hoping to stay out of the way. John admired her tenacity and focus when others' lives were on the line. He had no doubt that she already suspected the truth since Lorne hadn't returned with them, but telling her still stung. Especially on the heels of what had just happened.

First Ford. Then Carson. Then Elizabeth. Then Heightmeyer. And now Lorne. When did it end?

"Sheppard!" McKay's voice broke into John's thoughts. He jogged to Sheppard's side. "Headed to the infirmary?"

"Where else?"

"You know, there's the possibility that Lorne didn't go through the gate to that address."

"Then who did?" John asked.

"I don't know." Rodney snapped his fingers. "Maybe it was the Wraith."

John gave him an irritated look. "The Wraith?"

"Yeah, well, we don't know if a random dart came through and culled a few people in the last couple of weeks before Lorne went missing."

"I think they would have told us if that had happened."

"Hey, you never know."

John frowned. "I think it's safe to say that Lorne _didn't_ go to the 'flying monkey planet.'"

"I'm not saying that he did." McKay gave him a grin that said he was acting like a child. "I'm saying it's possible he was taken on board the dart."

"Culled?" John didn't like what that option meant. "That's _not_ what happened."

"You can't just decide it isn't what happened because you don't like it," Rodney said.

John didn't even comment. He just left McKay standing in the hallway.

Rodney did have a point, though. They had no idea how many of those addresses were from recent use. From what they'd been able to find, Orenth's only real trading partner was the Genii. They'd checked in with Ladon Radim, who promised to contact Atlantis if he heard news on Lorne's location. But John hadn't fully believed the Genii leader. Ladon might be better than Cowen, but he was still Genii.

In the infirmary, Jennifer glanced up from where she'd been straightening scattered supplies. "Colonel." She smiled slightly. "Had one of those displacement currents Rodney talked about come straight through here. I'm just glad I didn't have any patients in the infirmary at the time."

"Yeah, me, too." John moved to her side, glancing around to see that Cole and Marie had given them space.

Jennifer met his eyes. "You didn't find him, did you?"

"No." John took her by her shoulders. "But we're not going to stop looking."

She nodded once. "When will you tell Woolsey?"

"Tomorrow." He wanted to pull her into a hug. "I'm sorry, Jennifer."

She smiled, but it wasn't a happy smile. More of a flattening of the lips meant to put a happy face on a bad situation. "You've done your best." She pulled out of his hands and walked into her office, closing the door behind her.

John shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked out of the infirmary. Rodney was nowhere to be found, and John was glad. He wanted to pummel something right now, not debate the odds of Lorne having found something capable of keeping him alive in space. At the current moment, it looked as if Lorne had just disappeared. And he couldn't do a single thing about it.

oOo

"_Go, go, go!" The order rang through the air only to be drowned out by another explosion. He ducked as dirt and debris rained down on him and the two others with him. Ahead of them, the huge ring glowed, and a third man rushed them along. Bullets whizzed overhead, and he whirled. Lifting his weapon, he fired, the burst of bullets giving the others enough time to walk through the shimmering circle. He turned to run, but another explosion knocked him off his feet. He coughed at the dirt that filled his mouth and pushed himself to his hands and knees. Just as he regained his footing, he realized he'd turned away from the circle. He whirled, intent on making it through the shimmer just as his team had, and became intimately acquainted with the butt end of a rifle._

Evan blinked at the window, seeing the first hints of dawn on the horizon. He'd left it open last night, loving the soothing roar of the ocean. Now, he frowned. He must have fallen asleep in his chair even though he clearly remembered lying down in bed. Had he awakened in the middle of the night and moved here for comfort?

Pushing to his feet, he walked to the window and stared out. He clearly saw the faces of his team, men he trusted with his life. Names hadn't appeared, but he saw their faces. Rather than staring at the ocean, he grabbed his sketch book and began to draw.

An hour later, all the faces down in clear, concise detail, he rose and walked back to the window. His room had warmed since he'd awakened, and he relished the cool breeze coming from the ocean. He vaguely remembered being in water on a regular basis, but the location remained a mystery. Still, the certainty that he swam often and for exercise wouldn't leave his mind. He suddenly wanted to feel the waves lapping over his shoulders as he stretched muscles unused for too long.

Decision made, Evan gathered up his clothing and crept downstairs. Yesterday, he'd awakened Kaela with the creak on the fourth step from the top or the squeak of the door when he opened it too widely. He couldn't be sure. Today, he avoided the fourth step, and he squeezed out the door. Confident that he'd escaped without waking his hosts, he left the yard and made his way to the beach. Leaving his clothing in a cleft in the rock, he stripped down to the long shorts he wore and waded into the ocean.

The cold water prickled his skin, but he walked out deeper. Keeping an eye on the shore, he carefully stretched his sore ribs. He didn't need a brisk run or a strenuous swim. Just something to keep his muscles from atrophying from lack of use. Letting the salt water support him, he did the backstroke for a time, staring at the brightening sky.

His mind seemed like that sky. Every night brought new revelations. He'd saved his team. While he couldn't recall their names or where they'd gone or even _what_ they'd used to get there, he knew without doubt that those men had been a team. And he'd been their leader.

Evan sighed and reversed direction in the water. How long would it take for him to remember everything? Andren had cautioned him just yesterday that it would take time, but he hoped for a quick recovery. He needed to get back out into the world. Back out there where he could find his team and lead them again.

Back to his dream lady.

Evan shook his head as he swam toward shore. The sun had just started creeping over the horizon, and he wanted to review the images he'd sketched one more time before anyone else realized he was awake. He wanted more time to remember anything that could help him. He dressed and walked up the stone path to the house. And smiled ruefully.

A tray with a teapot, teacup, sugar bowl and cream pitcher sat on the small table in the back yard. So he'd awakened Kaela again. This morning, he appreciated her discretion in not joining him. While he liked her, she wasn't. . . . He wished he could remember a name. Calling her "the woman in my dreams" or "my dream lady" got old after a while.

Thinking about Kaela brought her image to mind, and he smiled. She was a pretty girl. Yesterday, her red-blond hair had fallen in ringlets around her shoulders, and the sun had lightened her green eyes with its golden glow. But his mind supplied warm brown eyes, softer blond curls, and a warm voice in place of Kaela's appearance.

Pouring himself a cup of tea, Evan settled into the chair and let the morning sun dry his hair and skin as he thought over the night's dreams. As the rays warmed him, he let his determination soar. He _would_ find his way back home. And he _would_ remember who he was. He _would_ return to his dream lady. Anything else was unacceptable and did not befit a soldier of his rank.

He refused to try to figure out that last thought and drank his tea before heading to his room to prepare for the day.

~TBC


	5. Chapter 5

"He is not ready!" The whispered words stopped Evan in his tracks.

"Maeryn, I have no choice." Andren also whispered, but he was calmer than his wife. "I agree that he's not ready, but I have been given an order from the Prime Minister."

"Can't you stall? You're his doctor, and you know his condition!" Maeryn moved in the kitchen, but she continued speaking. "You know as well as I how fragile the mind can be. If they push him for answers, he may never remember."

"You underestimate him." Andren's voice had risen to a normal speaking tone. "He is a soldier. I can see it in the way he carries himself and the pictures he draws. And he _is_ remembering things. It's just taking time. Time that we don't have."

"Because of one man." Maeryn changed locations again, her shoes clipping on the floor. "Andren, he is a guest in our home. He is your_ patient_, a man you swore to protect until he is better. I don't see how this could ever help him. If anything, it will put a strain on him and keep him from remembering further."

Rather than listen to the argument, Evan headed upstairs. He deliberately hit the fourth step from the top, letting the squeak silence the voices in the kitchen. He heard them resume their conversation once he reached his room, but he was too far away to understand what they said.

Someone wanted to speak with him. That much was obvious. Who? The military? It made sense. If he was a soldier-and he very much believed so-then his company commander would want him to return to duty as quickly as possible. But how could he return to duty if he could not remember? Had he done any kind of basic training, or was he a conscript? He'd heard enough from Kaela and Andren to understand that Orenth was in a civil war, but he had yet to learn exactly _why_ they were in a civil war.

After bathing and dressing for the day, Evan made his way downstairs. He'd left his jacket in his room, choosing to roll the long sleeves away from his wrists and leave the suspenders over his shirt. It vaguely reminded him of something, but he couldn't recall what. Either way, he'd seen Andren dressed similarly while out for a stroll and knew it was acceptable.

Kaela set the breakfast table, her green eyes seeking his when he walked into the room. She smiled. "Good day, Evan."

He returned the smile and turned to Maeryn. "Good morning."

Maeryn grinned at him and patted his shoulder as she carried food to the table. She'd adopted Evan in spite of Kaela's attraction to him, and he wondered if getting involved with the doctor's daughter would be such a wise idea after all. Like always, when he thought about Kaela, his dream lady appeared. If he could only remember her name. . . .

As they ate, Andren shifted in his chair. "Evan, the Minister of War and the Prime Minister wish to speak to you."

Evan froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Surely you've told them everything I've told you."

"I have." Andren gave Maeryn a warning glance before continuing, "But they wish to hear it from you. As I said at the hospital, you're quite the hero, and they likely want to award you for your heroism."

Evan shifted in his chair, uncomfortable with that idea. "I'm not so sure that's a great idea, Sir." He shrugged. "I merely did what any good soldier would do."

"That's just it." Andren, who knew of Evan's dreams, leaned forward. "You and I haven't spoken about your experiences, but Josus has. And he tells us that a lot of good soldiers couldn't get out of that camp. But you managed to bring five of our finest home."

Evan glanced down at his plate. _And to lose seven of your finest,_ he thought. Rather than voicing those thoughts, he set aside his fork, his appetite gone. "I see."

Andren gave him a sympathetic look. "We'll leave in an hour."

Evan excused himself from the table, not even glancing at the two women as he left the room. He hated the dread coiling in his stomach, but he was unable to stop the knot from growing. The officials he was about to go see would want answers. They'd want him to explain why he was here. He knew from his dream last night that he wasn't from this planet. But his home planet remained elusive. He wished he'd seen the symbols on the big stone ring, but he'd been unable to discern them even in his early morning time. He'd only seen faces. People. And he'd drawn them.

His eyes fell on his sketch pad, and he impulsively snatched it up. If the Prime Minister and the Minister of War wanted to see them, then he'd have to show them. The pages fell open to the sketch of his dream lady, and he smiled. Just the sight of her face calmed him, and he often wondered if he'd ever see her in the flesh again.

Rather than staring at the picture, he set the sketch pad aside and gathered his hat and coat. When he'd left the hospital, he hadn't worn the hat, preferring to go bare-headed. But, as they'd traveled to Andren's home, he'd noticed that almost every man on the street wore a hat. As did the women. In deference to custom, he made sure it was firmly in place when they left for the train.

Andren remained quiet on the train ride, letting Evan have his thoughts. Evan was grateful, but he wished he'd been informed about this trip a bit sooner. He would have been able to prepare, to put something together from the images he'd drawn. Instead, he would have to make it up as he went along. Improvise, as it were. And he couldn't help but think that he was quite good at improvisation.

When they left the train, Andren turned to him. "There is nothing to be nervous about. This is not a hearing of any kind. Merely a meeting in a private chamber, designed to gather intelligence."

Evan licked his lips before responding. "Yeah. Somehow, I think I've heard that before."

Andren raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Not that I remember." Evan shrugged, unable to explain the feeling. "I just feel like I've experienced this before, and it never ended well."

Andren narrowed his eyes. "I'll be right there the whole time."

_That's what I'm concerned about,_ Evan thought. He'd been in Andren's home long enough to realize that the man wasn't going to crucify him, but he remained suspicious nonetheless. Not to mention Kaela's infatuation, which grew with each passing day. Evan didn't think she meant anything by it, and he was somewhat flattered. But he refused to start anything beyond a friendship with her.

At the Ministry Headquarters, Andren led Evan up the wide steps and through a massive set of double doors. Evan looked around, seeing the pillars and statues that people could hide behind. They walked through a vestibule with twenty-foot ceilings, arches, and various works of art. Part of him wanted to examine the art, to see if anything was familiar, but he kept walking. His footsteps echoed on the large tile but didn't draw any extra attention. Men and women rushed here and there, and the vestibule opened into a three-way intersection. Andren turned left, leading Evan down a hall that was equally as large and ornate. Three-quarters of the way down the hall, he stopped and opened a door, revealing another hallway, this one mundane compared to the splendor outside. Down that corridor, through another door, Evan found himself in a large conference area lined with numerous books. He couldn't read the language, but he clearly recognized the large wooden table. It looked just like. . . .

Letting out a frustrated sigh, he moved to the window at the other end of the room. It looked out over a park with children running and playing while mothers and fathers kept watch. He heard the squeals and laughter through the window and allowed it to soothe him. Something about watching the children seemed familiar, but, like anything else, it remained buried in the recesses of his mind.

The thick door to the room opened again, and he turned to see two men, Andren's contemporaries, stride into the room. The younger of the two still had color in his hair, and he sported a bushy beard with a wide mustache that curled up at the ends. _Handlebar mustache_, Evan's mind supplied helpfully. The other man seemed somewhat grizzled and brusque by way of comparison.

Evan unconsciously straightened, his arms going to his sides, and his chin lifting as his eyes fixated on a spot on the wall. He couldn't explain the reaction. It was instinctive, almost as if it had been drilled into him at a young age. The grizzled man glared, but the younger one actually smiled.

Andren motioned to the younger man first. "Evan, meet Prime Minister Culver. He's the one to call this meeting." His hand moved to the other man. "And this is Grian, Minister of War."

Evan nodded. "It's an honor, Sirs."

Culver raised an eyebrow and glanced at Andren. "From what I hear, you're a soldier."

"Yes, Sir." Evan blinked and let a bit of his emotions show. "At least, I think so."

Grian snorted, but Culver smiled. "Then, soldier, relax. Or whatever it is they say."

"At ease," Grian growled.

Culver waved a hand, indicating that he already knew that and had likely feigned ignorance to irritate Grian. Evan simply nodded and removed the stiffness from his spine. He waited until the men had chosen their seats and then settled across from Grian and Culver and next to Andren. Setting his sketch pad on the table, he waited while they prepared their own notebooks and pens.

Culver met his eyes. "Andren tells me you have no memory of who you are, where you're from, or what you've done."

"Ah. . .no, Sir." Evan laced his fingers together above his sketch pad. "I've been told things, and I dream. But nothing explains _who_ I am. I've remembered the escape. At least, I think I have. But Josus was very open with what happened. . . ."

". . .and you think your mind simply supplied the images," Culver finished his thought.

"Yes, Sir."

Grian glared. "Well, what _do_ you remember?"

"Ah. . . ." Evan ordered his thoughts, pulling his memories of the dreams to the surface. "I was trying to get through a large stone ring with my team. I couldn't tell you where, only that it was not on this planet. I'm certain of that, no matter how crazy it sounds." He paused while the two men exchanged glances. "In the process, I was separated from my team and rendered unconscious. When I woke, I was in custody, bound, and being interrogated. Then, I was put in the camp."

"The wartime prisoners' camp?" Grian flipped through his own notes. "We have the testimonies of the five people you helped escape. They say you were there for a week."

"Yes, Sir."

"And you did in a week what others couldn't do in months?"

"I can't explain that, Sir." Evan shrugged. "I have this suspicion that my memories hold the clue as to _why_ that might be. But. . . ."

Culver held up a hand to stop Grian's retort. "Just tell us what you do remember."

Rather than speaking, Evan opened his sketch pad. In the hours he had on his hands while recovering, he'd drawn every scene from his dreams in little squares so that his sketch pad read like a graphic story in places. He slid it across the table. "That, in essence, is what I remember." He pointed to the first picture and watched Culver's face as he skimmed through the pictures. "I have dreams and, when I wake up, draw them out so I don't forget again."

Culver turned the page and saw the women as they fell. "This is. . . ."

"Yes, Sir." Evan nodded, understanding how gruesome his drawings really were.

Culver closed the book. "From what Josus and the others tell us, you kept them moving. When that grenade went off near you, it threw you quite a distance and flung you into a tree. They brought you to Andren, who saw to your health care."

Evan nodded. "I'm grateful."

Grian narrowed his eyes. "From what you and your. . .uh. . .drawings have indicated, you're definitely remembering things."

"I believe so, Sir."

The two men exchanged glances. Culver then leaned forward. "Have you drawn the stone ring you remember?"

Rather than speaking, Evan flipped through the sketch pad and found the page-sized picture he'd done just yesterday. He turned it toward Culver, who exchanged another meaningful glance with Grian. "Sirs, if I may, what is that thing?"

"That," Culver said, "is the Ring of the Ancestors. We use it to travel to other worlds in search of trading partners. And that," he continued, tapping the picture, "is the entire reason you were captured in the first place."

Evan blinked and then raised his eyebrows in confusion. "Sorry?"

Grian shook his head. "How much have you been told of how our government works?"

"Not much," Evan admitted.

Grian accepted that with a nod. "We are led by a Prime Minister, a man chosen by popular vote. That vote can—and often does—cause quite a bit of conflict. Which is what happened with this last vote. Culver, here, won the popular vote over Derron, who believed Culver had used his considerable wealth to win the vote. There has been an investigation, and we learned that Culver did not use his wealth other than to cover necessary costs of the campaign. But Derron is firm in his belief that Culver is corrupt, that he bribed his way into office."

"He broke off and formed his own nation." Culver shook his head. "Seceded from our nation and set up his own small country in some barren territory on the other side of the Ring. Fighting has been intense, and he has gained support both from within Talgrom and its governing body and without. We believe he may have sympathizers right within our Ministry. But that's beside the point. Two weeks before your arrival, we had lost control of the Ring. Without control of the Ring, our trade agreements cannot help support our people. We rely on help from other worlds and have for many years. With Derron controlling the Ring, we could not make contact with our allies to inform them that they were unable to come. Our own spies within Derron's troops tell us that your team was the only one to come through. They were also discovered about the time you were captured, and we were unable to obtain your home address."

Evan ducked his head. He'd hoped these men would have answers for him, but he suppressed the reaction. "I see."

Culver met his eyes. "We were hoping you would be able to help us, Evan."

"Me?"

"Yes." Grian smiled, the first one he'd cracked since he walked into the room. "Evan, how would you like to work directly for us?"

oOo

Jennifer stormed out of John's office, through the control room, and toward the infirmary. Halfway there, she changed direction and headed for crew quarters. How could they do this to her? To Evan? She blinked rapidly to keep from crying and yelling at the poor Marine that jumped into the transporter with her. He glanced at her and then jumped out when they arrived at crew quarters.

Once in her room, she grabbed the first thing that she could find and threw it. A pillow. It bounced harmlessly off the wall and landed on the floor, intact. Jennifer, in her rage, wanted to see something broken. Looking around, she grabbed a lamp that held no meaning whatsoever and yanked it off the bedside table. It shattered against the wall in time with her yell. _That felt good!_

Her anger spent in that sudden burst, she dropped onto the side of her bed and cried.

Evan was officially Missing In Action. The meaning of those words swept over her, and she drew her knees to her chest and rocked as she cried. John had asked her to come to his office, had tried to soften the blow she'd been expecting since he returned with Elizabeth's Replicator double. But hearing confirmation of it really stung. Just when John would have been the older brother she'd needed right then, Rodney had walked into the room, learned what had happened, and proceeded to tell Jennifer that she and Evan should have just gotten a room when they were able. _That_ comment had fueled the anger that sent her to her quarters in a rage.

MIA. Jennifer shook her head as the implications came home to her. It didn't mean that Evan was dead, but it assumed the worst. That he wasn't coming back. And that hurt more than anything else.

Suddenly unable to handle being alone, Jennifer wiped her face and left her quarters. She walked aimlessly, not surprised when her footsteps took her to Evan's quarters. Using her medical override code, she walked into his room and looked around.

It seemed as if he'd just left for a mission. A blue pullover was still draped over the back of his couch where he'd obviously left it as he dressed for the day. A pair of tennis shoes next to it, with a few stray socks still in the laundry basket next to the couch. His bed was perfectly made and could have bounced a quarter if she'd had one. His dresser held a bottle of cologne and his comb, the mirror small and unassuming. An easel stood in the corner, empty save for the paintbrushes left in the water bucket. A tackle box she assumed held the rest of his painting supplies rested at the base of it, and a blue button-down shirt speckled with paint hung over the top of the easel. Several completed paintings leaned against the wall, obviously earmarked for transport back to Earth when the _Daedalus_ next arrived. It had come and gone in the time that Evan had been missing.

Surrounded by this area so uniquely Evan's, Jennifer slowly walked toward the bed and sat down. Her tears flowed freely, and she allowed herself to experience the pain she'd held at bay for weeks. He really wasn't coming back. Not any time soon. Sheppard had been ordered to focus on new exploration, and Woolsey would insist that he not keep up the search. The pressure in her chest built, and Jennifer buried her face in Evan's pillow to muffle the scream. This couldn't be happening!

His scent filled her nose, and she breathed deeply, trying to stem the tide that she'd let loose. Evan wouldn't want her doing this. If he was here, he'd tell her to stop crying. That Sheppard didn't leave men behind. That he'd be back as soon as was humanly possible. The self-talk helped calm her tears, but it didn't dull the pain in her chest. She stared at his easel, at the reminders of his life on Atlantis, and finally admitted the truth.

She was in love with Evan Lorne. And, in hiding that love, she might have lost him forever.

Jennifer Keller fell asleep sometime later, surrounded by the scent of the man she had pushed away.

oOo

Sheppard walked the halls of the city, anger and concern warring for one another. When he'd broken the news to Jennifer, he'd made sure that Cole was around to cover the infirmary. He couldn't know how Jennifer would respond to the MIA paperwork, and he wanted to give her as much time as she needed. Of course, Rodney walked in and spoiled any kind of calm conclusion to the conversation. _You two should have gotten a room when you had the chance._ Even now, Sheppard wanted to throttle the physicist. Instead, he'd given Rodney what-for and sent him packing to his lab. He'd recognized a spark of jealousy in Rodney, but he'd been unable to do anything about it. A sparring session with Ronon helped him get rid of the anger coiled in his muscles, and he now searched for Jennifer.

She hadn't returned to the infirmary like he thought she might. For the last several weeks, she'd put on a brave face, not showing much emotion. Seeing her ball up her fist and nearly hit Rodney had been both majestic and heartbreaking. She would never have been in that state had Woolsey not given up the search.

A quick stop at her quarters produced no results. Sheppard frowned. She'd either sought solitude elsewhere or had locked herself inside in such a bubble that she refused to answer the door. Rather than intruding, he moved down the hall to Lorne's quarters.

The major had been a good friend, Sheppard realized as he entered his own override code. He wasn't planning to pack up Lorne's things to ship home. That would do no good until they had firm proof of death. But his family would likely appreciate some of his personal items when he gated home to tell them the awful news.

Jennifer slept on Lorne's bed, cuddling his pillow to her chest.

Sheppard blinked and crept across the room. She'd clearly cried herself to sleep, as evidenced by her unruly hair and the tear stains still on her face. But she slept soundly, having totally exhausted her emotions. He didn't have the heart to move her and turned from the bed, intent on leaving her be until morning.

Evan was a painter. That truth hit Sheppard as he saw the painting next to the door. Squatting down and using the moonlight to look over the artwork, he shook his head. He'd known Evan was an artist from his file, but he'd never seen the major's work. Now, faced with beautiful images of a New Lantean sunset, he shook his head. These paintings belonged where they could be enjoyed, not hidden away. Lorne hadn't mentioned anything about it in their many conversations, but Sheppard made a decision. He picked up the two large paintings, one a sunset and the other a sunrise. Both of them had the spires of Atlantis in the foreground, and both had his distinctive "EL" marking in the lower right-hand corner. One would go in his office, a reminder of his missing friend. And the other would go in Jennifer's office. They would remain there until they brought Lorne home.

Decision made, Sheppard left Jennifer to her rest and returned to his office for the rest of the night.

oOo

The creak of the fourth step brought Andren's head up from his books. He'd been researching, trying to find an answer for Evan's amnesia. After their visit with the Prime Minister that day, Evan had wandered the vestibule of the Ministry, looking at the paintings featured there. Words like "Impressionism" and "Baroque" and "Renaissance" dropped from his mouth, and he'd been able to explain the difference. But, when asked how he knew it, he couldn't tell. Andren wanted to help the poor man, to reunite him with his family.

Now, however, he stood in the door of his office and watched Evan meander through the living room. The man looked around as if he'd lost something and very purposefully headed for the door. Andren followed. Once outside, Evan stared at the table, ran a hand over it, and settled into the chair.

"Evan?" Andren slowly sat in front of the other man.

Evan turned, confusion and concern warring for dominance. "Colonel Sheppard, is that you?"

oOo

_He was lost. He floated through blackness, seeing the pinpricks of distant stars as he steered himself toward four small dots of white. He spoke, but he couldn't understand what was said. Instead, he felt the loneliness, the crushing cold of space. He'd lost something, and he needed desperately to find it._

_Except he could not remember what "it" was._

Evan blinked as he woke, staring at the ocean as the sky began to brighten. The cool morning breeze, laden with the salty scent of the water, ruffled his hair. He blinked slowly, realizing that he must have come out here in his sleep. It was the only explanation.

Movement to his left drew his attention, and he frowned at Andren. For some reason, he'd done everything in his power to keep Andren from discovering that he moved about the house in his sleep. And, now, here was the doctor, watching him closely.

"Hey, Doc." Evan ran a hand over his face. "Sorry to wake you."

"It is no problem." Andren narrowed his eyes. "Do you remember anything?"

"No." Evan shook his head. His dreams often revealed things, but he only remembered the loss tonight. The feeling that he hadn't found something in time to save something else. "Why?"

"Because you spoke to me."

"What did I say?"

"You asked, 'Colonel Sheppard, is that you?'"

Evan frowned. "Sheppard? A friend, perhaps?"

"Or a commanding officer." Andren let out a deep breath. "You were walking in your sleep, something I've seen only once in my life. And it was a small boy last time. I have never seen a grown man do such a thing."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Doc."

"Do not apologize." Andren pushed to his feet. "Your dreams reveal more than you realize. And, if we must be vigilant while you sleepwalk, so be it."

Evan didn't say anything as the doctor walked away. He couldn't. He'd just embarrassed himself, though his rational mind told him that he could not have known he was a sleepwalker. Still, it rankled.

Rather than reaching for his sketch pad, Evan stared at the ocean. He would go down there and swim in a bit, when the day had brightened some. But, for now, he wanted to absorb his feelings.

He'd never felt so alone. Oh, not while he was awake though he knew he wasn't from Talgrom or Orenth. He knew he was from another planet, and that kept him separate from the people here. But the lonely feeling came from the black void he'd flown through. Yes, it was space. Yes, he'd piloted some sort of vessel. Was that all he was? A pilot?

And who was Colonel Sheppard? The name seemed familiar, but his mind could not produce a face. Not even an image. Instead, he wound up picturing his dream lady in an effort to calm his emotions.

Rising from his chair, he went back upstairs and gathered his clothing for the day. Yesterday, after his meeting with Culver and Grian, he'd given Andren a lecture on differences in art. That prompted Andren to purchase him some canvases and paints. It seemed to be such an important part of his life, and he looked forward to putting his favorite lady's image into color. Doing so made her seem like less than a dream.

Back outside, he waded into the cold ocean and let the water carry him for a few minutes. Not enough to take him too far from land. But enough to soothe the tension still in his muscles.

One of these days, he would remember. He was sure of it. And he refused to let go of that belief.

~TBC


	6. Chapter 6

Jennifer woke slowly, her head pounding in time with her heartbeat. She blinked, feeling the swelling around her eyes, and her memory returned. She'd cried herself to sleep.

Sitting up, she looked around. Evan's quarters were the same, though shadowed by the late night. She ran a hand over the sensor next to the bed, bringing the lights to half of their normal brightness in order to blink at her watch. Two in the morning. No wonder her eyes felt like she'd poured sand in them.

Her hair fell around her shoulders, but she ignored it in favor of rolling her neck to release the kinks. She'd become accustomed to the strange, memory foam-like beds on Atlantis, but Evan's pillow was firmer than hers. She ran a hand over it, seeing the stains of her tears just before she'd fallen asleep. And she knew there was no going back. He may not have been there, but she'd just spent the night in his bed. To a girl like Jennifer, it meant something.

Rather than bouncing right up and rushing out of the room, she loosened the top blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders. Yesterday, she'd been wrong to rush out of John's office. Of course, it had a lot to do with McKay's idiotic comment, but she should have been able to control her emotions better than that. Her father would just tell her that she was being a woman, but Jennifer refused to accept that. She'd been selected as the Chief Medical Officer on a classified military base in another galaxy. She should be able to handle _anything_ life threw at her.

Of course, she'd not expected to fall in love with the base second-in-command. As she sat there, Jennifer remembered the first time she'd ever met Evan Lorne. He'd escorted a Marine into the infirmary, the result of a too-vigorous training accident. It had become mundane and almost cliché for the Marines to challenge Ronon. But Evan? He was deadly in his own right, but no one really saw that. This one young Marine had taken it upon himself to one-up his CO. And Evan had put him in his place and promptly saw him to the infirmary to get stitched up. Even then, he'd been careful about it, protecting the Marine's fragile reputation by saying that _he'd_ goofed.

The original Carson Beckett had still been alive at that time, and he'd asked Jennifer to see to the Marine's wounds. That put her in close proximity to Evan, and they'd struck up a friendly conversation as she worked. In those few moments, he learned that she was from a tiny town in Wisconsin and was still getting accustomed to working in another galaxy. And he'd let slip that he was from San Francisco. It began the friendship that steadily deepened over the course of the next year.

What was she to do now that he was gone? Jennifer let out a deep sigh and looked around. "Missing In Action" could mean so many things. He could have been captured, killed, culled, fed on by the Wraith, or so severely injured that he couldn't make it back. None of those appealed, the permanent ones least of all.

"No, he's coming back," she said to the empty room. He had to. She had too many things to say to him when he did come back.

Reality crowded in on her when the sun began to rise. She was on duty today, and she'd need a very good reason why she was late. A glance at the shower made her flush even though Evan was nowhere around. She still could not, in good conscious, use the man's shower without her thoughts straying into more intimate areas. Areas she'd rather leave untouched until his return.

Knowing she'd never do as good a job as Evan had, she straightened the bed. She hesitated, however, when she picked up the pillow. Holding it to her nose, she took a deep breath and smiled. It smelled like him. That unique blend of cologne, soap, and outdoors, with hints of chlorine from the pool recently set up in the lower levels of the city, made her smile. He must have begun swimming on a regular basis. She took another breath and blinked back her tears. She missed him. More than she'd ever thought possible.

After straightening his bed, she glanced around the room. His shirt, still draped over the back of the couch, drew her, and she picked it up. It wasn't very long when held against her body, but it was wide. Evan was quite muscular, though he kept it well hidden. The long sleeves were stretched out at the cuffs, evidence of his habit of pulling his sleeves up to his elbows. And it also smelled like him. Jennifer tucked it into the pillow case to smuggle out of the room and left before she dissolved into tears once again.

oOo

The midday sun beat down on Evan's back as he added touches of blue to his painting. He'd set up on the back patio of Andren's home, choosing to use the ocean as the backdrop. His dream lady had appeared on the canvas, her golden hair shining as the light hit it. He'd painted her in a flowing pink gown, the wind catching her hair and tossing it over her shoulders as she walked up the stone steps toward him. But her smile, the same one he dreamed of seeing every night, reached inside and touched something deep within him.

Shaking his head, he cleaned his paintbrush and eyed the painting with a critical eye. He normally didn't allow such sappy thoughts to escape even if he did have them. He'd heard somewhere that artists were mercurial. Moody. He thought that might be him, but he clamped down on those thoughts quickly. He was, first and foremost, a soldier.

The thoughts had a practiced ring to them, and he wondered how many times a day he rehearsed the same lines to himself. How many times had he struggled to balance his emotions with his duty? The not knowing got on his nerves more and more as the hours progressed, and he _knew_ he should have remembered more than this by now. What had been done to him in that POW camp? What experiments had they conducted that his fractured mind no longer remembered? Or had they conducted any experiments at all?

"Oh, now, _she_ is striking." Andren's voice pulled him from his thoughts. The doctor stepped to Evan's side. "You are truly talented."

"Thank you." Deciding that the painting was complete, Evan dipped a small knife into some white paint and added a quick little mark on the lower right-hand corner.

Andren raised an eyebrow at him. "Evan?"

"I don't know." Evan stared at the mark. "I just. . . ."

"Habit?"

"I think so." He frowned. "I wish I knew."

Rather than commenting on that, Andren put a hand on his shoulder. "I came out to tell you that we've been invited to the Prime Minister's home for the evening meal."

Evan turned. "And I assume it's a formal affair?"

"Yes." Andren patted him on the shoulder. "I have no doubt you'll do just fine."

"Thank you, Sir." Evan looked back at his painting. It was truly finished. "I'll take this upstairs to finish drying and be ready at the appropriate time."

Andren left him alone, then, and Evan tried to relax. He spent the afternoon alternately staring at the painting he'd completed and trying to draw something else. Every picture came back to his memories or to his dream lady. Rather than fighting it, he let his pencil draw while he mentally prepared for the evening.

Maeryn delivered a suit just as the sun began to set. Knowing that this dinner party would be late at night, Evan had bathed and waited patiently. He wanted to pace, but he refused to let that much anxiety escape. Once Maeryn left, he moved to the mirror on the wall and began to dress.

_A blue shirt buttoned easily, but the top button choked him slightly._

Evan blinked and frowned. The high-necked white shirt was a bit loose, but he made it work with the cravat that had been provided. The slick red fabric rustled as he struggled to tie it and eventually just made it work.

_Silver pins went into the lapels of the dark blue jacket, each one specific in its placement._

Evan shook his head and frowned at his reflection. Flashbacks? Brought on by dressing for a dinner party?

_Black shoes, so shiny he could see his face, completed the look. But it wasn't a happy look. He was. . .sad._

Evan sat down on the edge of the chair, trying to remember why he'd been sad. His eyes went to his painting. Had _she_ died? Was that why he'd dressed in such a formal way? Or was it just something he'd misconstrued?

A knock on the door brought his head up, and he hurried to answer. Andren frowned. "Evan? Something wrong?"

"I was. . .uh. . . .No." For some reason, he didn't want the doctor knowing about the flashback. It might ruin the evening, and Evan knew he needed to be at his best for the dinner with Culver.

Andren narrowed his eyes momentarily and then nodded. "Very well. I had a favor to ask. Would you escort Kaela?"

Evan smiled to cover the internal reaction he'd had. "Of course." But, inside, he knew the truth. He didn't want to escort her any more than he wanted to spend the rest of his life here.

oOo

The dinner part of the party passed uneventfully. Evan watched everyone around the table carefully, looking for cues as to what was socially acceptable and what wasn't. He needn't have worried as he became an instant celebrity. And Kaela became one with him.

The number of women at the dinner party did not surprise him. The number of young girls did. Kaela instantly turned into the most worshipped woman there and the most hated. At least, for the night. He realized that _he_ was the reason as mothers dressed up their daughters to be presented to him. Evan barely refrained from shaking his head in disgust as women pushed their teenaged daughters toward him while the girls batted their eyes, flirted, and laughed at every word that came out of his mouth. A quick glance at Kaela showed her own disapproval. He never would have thought that he'd appreciate her relative maturity.

Now, however, he felt like he'd been rescued. And he never thought he'd appreciate politics as a rescuer. But, standing in Culver's study with a snifter of some sort of liquor in his hand, he breathed a sigh of relief. The cigar smoke was thick, but he ignored it.

The Prime Minister made his way to Evan's side. "How are you today?"

"Good." Evan nodded, trying to mask the uncertainty stirring in his mind. But he'd suddenly noticed how the room seemed divided.

Culver caught on quickly. "You see the disunity in my own cabinet." He smirked. "Now you know why I asked for your help. I'm under no illusions that you're only with us for a short time."

"Sir, why me?"

Culver considered that question. "You're unknown. You're not a familiar face, and you're someone that can be trusted and influenced. Or, so it seems."

"Well, I'm not so sure about all that." Evan shrugged. "But I'll do the best I can."

"Good." Culver smiled at him. "We received word that there's a group of men calling themselves 'patriots' meeting tomorrow afternoon. I've already given Andren the location, and I'm hoping you'll attend. Our sources tell us that many of Derron's men have started out at these particular meetings."

"You want me to get in there, learn what they're teaching, and tell you."

"And, if possible, learn the identities of the agents operating in our city." Culver shook his head. "I'm not fool enough to think this war can be stopped by merely giving in to their demands. Nor am I fool enough to think that my utter annihilation of their camp would solve the problem. No, for this to work, _Derron_ must be discredited. Only then can we hope to help our country recover."

Evan nodded, already shifting his focus. When he left the Prime Minister's home a short time later, he did so with his mind already working out the logistics of living with Andren and performing his duty to Talgrom. . .if he had one.

oOo

Sheppard watched Coughlin's face as the younger man entered his office. It had only been a day since Lorne was declared MIA, and things had already changed. Teldy had moved into Lorne's office, rearranging things to her liking. Lorne kept very few personal effects in his office, but Teldy had discovered something that surprised Sheppard. A small snapshot of Jennifer and Lorne, taken during one of their dinners together, had been tucked into the major's center drawer. John knew Evan hadn't obsessed about the doctor, but having her photo so close at hand meant Lorne wanted something more.

Now, however, he let Coughlin react to the changes in his own office. His desk had been moved so that it faced the door, the wall behind him covered with the large sunset painting Lorne had left in his quarters. John had given the sunrise one to Jennifer, a symbol of hope for Lorne's safe return. But he'd put one up in his office, his way of remembering his missing second-in-command for as long as was necessary. And he'd already requisitioned the supplies to properly frame the two paintings. They would arrive with the _Daedalus's_ next shipment.

Coughlin settled into the chair across from Sheppard, his eyes still on the painting. "Sir, is that. . .?"

"Yes." Sheppard met his eyes. "Lieutenant, I know it seems that everyone has moved on, but I don't leave men behind. We'll find him."

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin nodded. "I told the doc that just this morning."

Sheppard raised an eyebrow. "You saw Dr. Keller today?"

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin frowned. "Permission to speak freely?"

"Granted."

"This sucks."

John had to agree. "Lieutenant, while we're in this office, you're free to speak your mind on anything."

"In that case, this doesn't just suck. It's. . . .He could still be alive back there, still waiting for us to come and get him."

"I know. And I've said those things to Mr. Woolsey. But, as he is the leader of this city, I have to abide by his wishes." John mentally added, _Sometimes._

Coughlin accepted that with another nod, though he clearly wasn't happy about it. "You needed to speak with me?"

"Yeah." Sheppard sat back in his chair. "I know Woolsey and I went over this with you before, but I'd like you to tell me one more time what happened out there."

Coughlin was a smart man. He didn't need to be told that Sheppard was searching for another excuse to get back to the search. "Well, Sir, we went through the gate as scheduled. It was early evening on that planet, and we set out on foot for the nearest settlement. Major Lorne had a life signs detector, and he chose the direction.

"As soon as we walked into that other camp, chaos broke loose." Coughlin shook his head. "They took one look at us and went ballistic. Weapons came out, and we wound up hightailing it back toward the gate. Major Lorne initially tried to calm everyone down, saying we were peaceful explorers, but they wouldn't listen. They just. . ."

"Went ballistic?" John asked, using Coughlin's words. He'd seen similar reactions before, though it wasn't as common now that their position in Pegasus had been established.

"Yeah." Coughlin scowled. "We got to the gate, and Reed dialed Atlantis. I entered my IDC. Lorne was behind us, covering our six, and he told us to head through the gate. The last time I saw him, he'd been thrown by a grenade or explosive of some kind and was down next to the DHD. I started to go help him, but he got to his knees. I figured he would be fine and came through."

Sheppard nodded. He knew the rest. Just after Coughlin had come through the gate, a blast of dirt, smoke, and debris from another explosion had followed him. And the gate shut down. No one had seen Lorne since. And, when Sheppard went back to Orenth, he'd spoken with a man named Derron, who claimed Lorne had gone through the gate with the rest of his team. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

"Yes, Sir." Coughlin recognized the dismissal and rose, leaving the office after a brief nod.

Sheppard rubbed his face and sat back in his chair. Lorne hadn't left that planet. He was certain of it. Unfortunately, he had no proof for Woolsey, and that man wouldn't authorize a rescue mission on Orenth without proof that Lorne was still alive and being held against his will.

Turning to stare at the sunset, Sheppard vowed to himself that he would bring Lorne home.

oOo

_He wore the blue uniform, brightly colored ribbons on his chest, as he stood at attention with the rest of his men. He saw faces, but none of them so clearly as the one he would never see again. A rectangular box lay on a stand, covered in blue fabric with a white X on it. A flag of some sort. A woman spoke, her words haunting in the silence. But it was the instrument above that made such an impact on him. A strange instrument with a bag, pipes, and odd whine that accompanied him as he stepped forward. Hefting the box off of its stand, he walked toward the Ring of the Ancestors, stepping through the blue puddle._

_He didn't know what would happen next, but he knew one thing. He'd just carried a fallen soldier home._

Evan woke in his bed this time. He'd taken to locking his door, trying to keep himself from wandering at night. After keeping Andren up all night recently, he wanted to ensure his own safety and the safety of his hosts.

The man he'd dreamed of had died in an explosion. Evan pushed to his feet and reached for the sketch pad. Working quickly, he drew the images he'd seen and the one he remembered. The man had been a doctor, one who healed. He'd put his life on the line to save another human being and had paid the ultimate price. The dream stirred a sadness in Evan that little else had. Even looking at the portrait of his dream lady didn't take it away.

Seeing the sun about to rise, he gathered his clothing and slipped out of the house. On the beach, he stood and allowed the ocean's surf to roll over his bare feet. He loved it here, honestly, but he was out of place. Out of time. Had he been born here, he likely would never want to leave. _If __she__ were here, you wouldn't want to leave_, he told himself.

It was true. He wished for a name, wished for something to reveal his identity. But, when that failed, he returned to his artwork. And the ocean.

Wading into the waves, he felt them lift his body and carry him away from the beach. Evan worked against that pull, careful of the undertow and reveling in the way it stretched his muscles. Out here, he couldn't think too much. Just feel and let the water wash away the night's sorrows.

Or, in this case, anger. He'd dealt with it since the doctor's death, and he knew it wasn't the only thing he'd been angry about. It wasn't the only death he'd experienced recently. The grief was too great. His mind supplied the smiling image of the doctor, and he heard the rich brogue in his ears. But it wasn't enough.

He wanted to right the wrongs that had been done to him and his people, and he couldn't. He'd tried when he helped five soldiers escape that POW camp. But he had failed seven of the twelve. Just like the doctor. Somehow, he felt responsible, like he should have done something to prevent what had happened. But, life had a way of ending, no matter what people did.

And Evan hated that fact most of all.

~TBC

**Author's Note:** With summer comes various activities, one of those being church camps. I will be tied up this next week with church camp and have no time to write. I apologize for leaving the story in this place, but I will post as soon as camp ends. :) So, probably a week from today. Thank you for your patience, and I hope all of you have a fantastic week! ~lg


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** So, I'm back from church camp! We had a wonderful time, even if it was hot. Thank you for everyone who patiently waited for an update. There should be no further delays in posting this story, so hopefully we'll see an end soon. :) Also, this chapter contains spoilers for "The Shrine." Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

The following morning, Kaela rose just as the sun crested the horizon. The sound of the tide rushing to shore filled her room, and she smiled. She loved the sound of the beach and the birds that called out to one another. After taking a moment to enjoy the comfort of her home, she pushed out of her bed and walked to her dresser. Her hair, which had been curled and arranged nicely at last night's dinner party, was a tangled mess.

Moving to the window, Kaela began patiently working the tangles from her long hair as her eyes roamed the scene. Very few people came onto this desolate stretch of sand, and she enjoyed seeing the pristine sand first thing in the morning. Today, however, footprints marred the sand, and a dark head bobbed in the surf, strong arms pinwheeling as the man swam along the shore. Kaela narrowed her eyes, her brush and hair forgotten as she tried to figure out which one of the neighbor boys had tried to spy on her yet again. It had happened in the past, and she handled it with enough aplomb that the parents usually threatened their sons in private.

Today, however, was different. The dark head bobbed around for a few moments longer and then turned toward the beach. Kaela's excellent eyesight focused, and she blinked a few times to be sure she'd seen clearly.

Evan walked out of the surf, wearing only a pair of black knee-length breeches. Water dripped off his body, and he ran a hand through his short hair, spiking it as he went. He paused when the water reached his hips, turning to survey the ocean and the sunrise and giving Kaela a very nice view of his muscular torso and back.

She stepped away from the window as she struggled to breathe. Her cheeks heated, and she held a hand over her pounding heart. She'd never felt this way toward any other man, and she wondered if she could trust the strength of these emotions. But Evan was the most attractive, most amazing man she'd ever known. And just the image of his muscular body dripping with water was enough to send her heart rate so high that she wondered if she'd be able to survive.

Moving to the window, she peeked out again, watching as Evan faced the beach and continued his slow walk toward the house. She narrowed her eyes, committing every facet of his appearance to memory. This mysterious man, with no memory, just might be the one person to save her from a life of solitude in her father's home. He stopped on the beach, picking up his shirt and pulling it over his head. But the rough fabric clung to the seawater still on his body and did not help Kaela's problem. Instead, it made it worse.

Kaela moved away from the window when Evan neared the house, knowing he'd likely see her if she didn't. She'd never intended to intrude on his personal time. But how was she to know the man went for a morning _swim_? Her father took morning walks, not morning swims. But Evan. . . .

When she settled at her vanity a few moments later, she stared at her flushed face and admitted the truth. She was moments away from falling in love with Evan, and she hoped that, one day soon, he might return that love.

Still reeling from the revelations of the morning, Kaela dressed and tried to put on an appropriate face for the morning breakfast. But Evan's nearness only made her attraction to him stronger, and she spent the remainder of the day wondering if he'd noticed the change in her at all.

oOo

After his swim, Evan looked over his sketch book. He had a couple that would be perfect for committing to canvas, one in particular. Today, it wasn't his dream lady. It was the man who's casket he'd carried back home. He wished he could remember the details, but his mind refused to unlock for him, like it did every morning.

Frustrated with himself, he tossed the book aside and prepared for the day. Andren had mentioned a soup kitchen today, and Evan wondered if he'd be able to make himself useful. He felt horrible, sitting in Andren's home and doing nothing. That would change as his work for the Prime Minister progressed. But, right now, he wanted to show that he could be productive even without his memories.

Breakfast came and went in with a lot of awkwardness. At one point, Evan frowned at Kaela as she stammered something about the soup kitchen for those hit hard by the civil war. _What is with her today?_ He glanced at Andren and saw that the older man had also noticed his daughter's reactions. She stayed flushed, as if embarrassed, and her eyes skittered over Evan's face and then quickly away. He wondered what he'd done to cause such discomfort and eventually left the table after muttering something about working on a painting.

Back in his room, Evan calculated the hours he had left before going to the soup kitchen and decided he could get his work done. He prepared his canvas, opened his paints, and set to work. The painting he'd entitled "Dream Lady" hung across from his bed, where he saw it every morning. Each day, after he'd recovered from the dreams, he vowed to find his way back to her.

Today, however, he chose a different subject. As he applied paint to the canvas, he allowed himself to remember the scant information he had about his subject. Medical doctor. From a country other than Evan's. Cheerful. Always resenting military officers ordering him around, especially those who didn't respect his own profession. Evan painted kind blue eyes, feeling like he'd received horrible news from them before. And maybe he had. He couldn't help but think that he'd somehow found a friend after losing him. Or could it be a brother of sorts?

Around the lunch hour, he set aside his paintbrush and walked to the window. With his hands on his hips, he stared at the ocean. He had a job to do in Talgrom. But he wasn't from here. That wanderlust, for lack of a better term, had stirred last night, and it grew stronger with every passing hour. He _wanted_ to go home. . .if he could just remember where home was.

A knock on the door pulled him out of his thoughts, and he found Kaela standing at the door. "We are preparing to. . . ." Her voice trailed off as she saw the painting he'd just finished. "Did you paint that?"

"Ah. . .yeah." Evan leaned against the door, unsure if he should invite her in or tell her to wait for him. Now that he'd cleared the night's memories from his head, he clearly saw the attraction in her eyes. Her gaze skittered over his chest and shoulders once again, and realization dawned. She must have seen him coming out of the water. Somehow, that didn't make him feel better. He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. "Just let me clean up a bit."

"Yes! Of course!" Kaela glanced at the painting again and hesitated. "What is it called?"

Evan turned to look at the portrait one more time, and a name came to mind. "_Carson_. It's called _Carson_."

Kaela left him alone, then, and Evan frowned. As he'd looked at the painting, the name had just come to mind. He waited for the rush of memory that he expected, but nothing happened. No illumination. No memory. Just. . .Carson.

Shaking the thoughts from his head, he quickly cleaned up for the afternoon and rushed downstairs. Andren was just gathering up his coat as Evan appeared. Evan grabbed his hat and rammed it onto his head, rushing out the door as Kaela and Maeryn disappeared down the path.

Andren smiled. "Kaela told me you were painting."

"Ah. . . ." Evan didn't like the discomfort that stirred when he thought about Kaela's glimpse into his room. He liked the girl well enough, but she didn't inspire his confidence. "Yeah. I was painting."

"She mentioned a name?"

Evan smirked. "Yes. I named the painting _Carson_. Not sure why. It just looked. . . ." He let his voice trail off and shook his head.

"It looked like a _Carson_?" Andren asked.

"Yeah." Evan shoved his hands in his pockets and didn't say anything else until they arrived in Talgrom. At the train, Maeryn and Andren sat side by side, leaving Evan to accompany Kaela. As they sat close to one another in the train, Evan tried to reason out his feelings. He liked Kaela, but something balked at the idea of getting involved with her.

They arrived at the soup kitchen before he figured everything out. Maeryn and Kaela were swept into the kitchen with the other ladies. Evan remembered most of them from last night, but they weren't wearing their finery. Today, they wore sensible white blouses with dark colored skirts. A few, like Kaela, had on a matching vest that accented their form. He caught the glances from young ladies and mothers and knew he'd have his hands full if he didn't figure out something to do.

Andren clearly understood his dilemma. He clapped Evan on the shoulder and steered him toward the rear of the main room. "Over here, lad. You'll appreciate it."

"Thanks." Evan grinned. "I _already_ appreciate it."

Andren chuckled and led him to a table with three other men, all of them ranging from his age and down to Evan's. He pointed from the eldest to the youngest, listing their names in turn. "Acton, Iden, and Maitland, meet Evan."

Acton raised a cup filled with something alcoholic from the way his eyes shone. "Welcome, Evan." He kicked out a chair, sounding jovial as he laughed. "From what Andren tells us, you're quite the hero."

"Ah. . .yeah." Evan settled into the chair and accepted a cup of water from Kaela. She smiled at him and boldly touched his shoulder as she left the men alone. Maitland, the youngest, followed her with a look that fell between heartbroken and longing in his eyes. Evan shrugged with one shoulder. "Or, so I'm told."

Maitland refocused on Evan's face. "From what I've heard, you singlehandedly escaped a war prisoner's camp."

"Yeah." Evan forced a smile. "I remember bits and pieces of it."

Acton looked sharply at Andren. "Amnesia?"

"So it would seem." Andren shrugged. "He's slowly regaining memories, but. . . ."

"I see." Acton's eyes narrowed. "Then you know nothing of this war."

Evan's ears pricked at that question phrased as a statement. He licked his lips once. "I know what I've been told, but it's pretty vague. I'm hoping to learn more as my memories return."

Acton nodded once and turned the conversation to other topics. The meal was cooked, served, and eaten as they discussed Maitland's family farm-which had been given to his sister on their father's death-Iden's mother-in-law issues, and Acton's soon-to-arrive grandbaby. Through the meal, Kaela made regular appearances, filling the men's water and touching Evan's shoulder every time. He shifted in his chair, wishing she'd just stop even as he noticed Maitland's eyes watching her every move. Was the girl clueless or merely trying to make Maitland jealous? Evan couldn't be sure.

Conversation switched direction after a while, turning to the economy and scarcity of certain types of food since the beginning of the war. Evan listened closely, trying to glean as much information as possible in the hopes that it would make sense. But he couldn't find any cause for alarm. Culver didn't seem like the type to arrest someone simply for disagreeing with his policies, and Acton never came out and said anything even remotely close to treason. By the end of the meal, Evan merely wanted to return to his room, his paintings, and his hopes of finding his own home.

oOo

"_Jennifer, there's something I wanted to, um. . .while I remember, while I still can; there's something I wanted to say before, um. . . ."_

Jennifer watched the video, her emotions in an uproar.

"_Go ahead,"_ her video self urged gently.

"_I. . .I. . .I love you."_ McKay's recorded words brought a smile to Jennifer's face, even now. _"I've loved you for some time now."_ In the video, he smiled and looked down. When he looked up, he was back to himself. _"Okay. Where was I?"_

Jennifer stopped the video, torn between her emotions and her desire to hear those wonderful three words again. She'd spent the last few days in the infirmary, working to save Rodney McKay from a parasite that basically returned him to a child. She'd watched him degenerate at such a speed that it actually scared her. She was losing a patient and friend, and she didn't have Evan there to comfort her when it finally happened.

The arrival of Jeannie Miller and the subsequent visit to the shrine of Ronon's memories was a lifesave, both for McKay and for Jennifer. But she couldn't forget what Rodney said to her. In the time she'd spent with him, she'd allowed herself to feel a bit of compassion for the physicist, her anger at his comment about her and Lorne finding a room softening as he transformed into a charming man. She'd never expected his declaration, and she had run from the room when he first said it.

Since that day, she'd been so conflicted that she couldn't eat or sleep. Every time she returned to her quarters, she saw Evan's shirt and pillow, reminders of his presence in the city. Every morning, she stared at the painting Colonel Sheppard had hung in her office. She'd been angry that John had moved the paintings at first, but it became something of a comfort to see Evan's work so proudly displayed. It brought her hope.

On the other hand, she had Rodney McKay. Alive. Present. Willing to do anything for her, even share the fruit cup from his tray. She'd doubted McKay's words until just a few moments ago, when he lingered after Jeannie left the infirmary. He then touched her elbow with a gentle hand and apologized for saying what he did in John's office. And he asked her to dinner. Of course, he meant in the mess hall, but it was a sweet gesture on his part.

So, what did she do? She believed Evan was alive somewhere. But was he? Or was she just hanging on to memories that should be forgotten? Should she abandon her hopes for someone alive and living in Atlantis?

Tired of the questions and feeling a headache beginning to throb behind her eyes, Jennifer shut down the equipment, left the infirmary, and wandered to her quarters. The questions didn't stop, of course, but it was easier to figure things out here, where she could cry if she needed. Sitting on her bed, she grabbed Evan's pillow and held it to her nose, smelling his scent and letting it fill her with nostalgia. It also carried her back to _that_ day, when he'd kissed her.

Jennifer shook her head, pushed the pillow away, and climbed into a shower. She'd relived that kiss a hundred times, trying to find meaning in what they'd ignored. Evan had seemed apologetic the next day. But that night, right after Ronon's detox from the Wraith enzyme, he hadn't worried about what others thought. His smile was so gentle, his eyes sparkling, and she could almost feel his arms around her even now.

Could she really date Rodney not knowing what happened to Evan? She'd heard stories of soldiers overseas who came home to wives shoving divorce papers in their faces. Some returned to fiances and girlfriends who found someone else to fill the void while their soldier was away. Jennifer had always sneered at such women, wondering what could drive them to be so cruel to America's finest as they served in war zones. Now, she understood. Though she and Evan had no understanding between them, her heart was torn between hoping for what they might share or settling for second best.

"Wow, Jenn, you're a real piece of work," she told herself as she shampooed her hair. "McKay is a good man, not second best."

But he was second best for her, and she knew it. Had Evan never kissed her, had they never shared that one moment that changed her mind about getting involved with a soldier, she might have accepted Rodney's declaration. But she couldn't, in good conscious, date Rodney without knowing Evan's fate. She couldn't do that to a man as good as Evan Lorne. She refused to turn into such a shallow woman.

Decision made, Jennifer finished showering, prepared for bed, and slept soundly for the rest of the night.

oOo

"Andren." Acton's voice reached his ears as he watched the chaos of clean-up in the soup kitchen. Evan had sat at their table, laughing and chatting while watching each of the men closely.

"Acton." Andren eyed him. The man was good. Very good. "Are you satisfied?"

"With Evan?" Acton shrugged. "Maybe. He's a hero, and having a man like him in our corner would be a great thing. But I'm concerned since he lives with you."

Andren turned and frowned. "Just because he lives with me does not mean I dictate what he thinks or does."

"No, but you do report directly to Culver." Acton smiled coldly. "And I know you're not fully sold on our agenda."

Andren let out a deep sigh. He'd tried to pretend complete agreement with Acton's tactics, but he could not commit treason so easily. Culver trusted him, as did Evan. If he turned, those two men would be in danger.

If he didn't turn, his family would be in danger. He knew it from the way Acton's eyes went to Kaela and Maeryn. "What do you want?"

"Your support." Acton put a hand on his shoulder. "Your _total_ support."

"I don't. . . ."

"Consider your family." Acton glanced at Kaela. "She is a beautiful woman—your daughter. But she is reaching the years when she is no longer desirable for marriage. I noticed how taken she is with Evan, but I also know another young man of impeccable breeding who is completely smitten with your daughter."

Andren let out another deep breath. He'd also seen Maitland's infatuation with Kaela, and he'd considered speaking to the young man about it. "And your point?"

"If you join us, I will _personally_ see to it that Kaela does not become an old maid." Acton shrugged. "I merely need your help with advanced knowledge of Culver's tactics. And Grian's."

Andren closed his eyes. "Let me think about it."

"Take the time you need. Just don't take too long. Derron wishes to move soon, to recapture the Ring. He needs as much information as we can give him." Acton turned to go and then frowned. "What of Evan? Is he loyal to Culver?"

Andren eyed his house guest, knowing that Evan's loyalties didn't lie with anyone on Orenth. "His loyalties are not an issue. He has not disagreed with Culver, but he does not put his full support behind Culver." It was true. To an extent.

Acton nodded once, satisfied. "Consider my offer, my friend."

Andren watched the man walk away, his heart sinking. He knew he was getting up in years, and he worried about who would care for Maeryn and Kaela when he passed from this life. Maitland would make a great husband for Kaela, but she clearly fancied Evan.

What of that man? He could not just turn Evan over to Acton without consequences. Evan wasn't from Orenth, and his people would one day return. Or so Andren believed.

If he did this, he'd have to protect Evan from Acton. And from Culver. His dinner already twisted in his stomach, and he tried to wait patiently for his family to finish their chores. Once at home, however, he locked himself in his study with his books, using the excuse of research to hide his turmoil. He needed to make a decision. And soon. But which one was the right one?

oOo

_He sat on the hospital bed, the covers rumpled but not hiding the weapons he'd discarded. Tonight, however, his bed was on the beach, the stars overhead sparkling brilliantly. The ocean's roar pounded in time with his heart, and he watched __her__ appear. She moved toward him, her brown eyes sparkling as she told him something. He could not be certain what she said. His attention had been captured by the flowing pale pink gown she wore. It fell to her feet and billowed in the sea breeze behind her, giving him glimpses of her form when it pressed against her body. But it did not reveal anything to him. No name. No feature other than her face and feminine silhouette._

_He stood, like in his previous dream. Though it was surreal, he knew this wasn't real. The actions. . .yes. Those happened. But the location? This was born of his time in Andren's home._

_She glanced up at him, her skin glowing in the moonlight. The gown, an off-the-shoulder number that highlighted her neck and softly-curled blond hair, reflected into her eyes as she held his gaze. He reached out, touched her jaw, and turned her head into a kiss. One kiss wasn't enough, though, and he kissed her again._

Evan woke still in his bed, dawn hours away. The moonlight through his window slanted off of his painting of Carson and vaguely showed the pink gown in his painting of his dream lady. Why could he not remember her?

Rather than rising and committing this dream to paper, Evan rolled onto his side, turning his back to the room. He needed to think clearly, not get caught up in fantasies about the one woman he couldn't forget but could not name.

In an effort to forget about his own personal struggles, he went over the evening. Every word he could remember. Every innuendo. Every glance that Maitland gave Kaela and every touch Kaela gave Evan. He wanted the girl to be happy, but he wanted her to be happy with someone other than him. It wasn't right to embark on the kind of mission Culver had given him with Kaela waiting around for him to return. He'd already left one woman behind. He didn't need to do the same to another.

Irritated at himself, Evan pulled his mind back to Acton and his questions about the economy. Tonight's meeting was an interview. He realized it now. The underground group that Culver wanted him to infiltrate clearly used the soup kitchen as cover for their operations. And it worked. Who would suspect a group of men who sat around, ate free food, and chattered about the weather, farms, the economy, and any number of items? For some reason, the phrase "good ol' boys" came to mind, and Evan worried that there might be a lot more out there.

Was Culver really as honest as he pretended? Or was Derron right? Evan shook his head, realizing that these questions were brought up by Acton's rhetoric. The man was incredible at using simple conversation to spread his propaganda. It created doubt in the minds of his listeners and converted them to his cause before they truly understood what had happened.

His mind totally distracted from his dream, Evan rolled onto his back and rubbed his eyes. He'd document everything and put it in a safe place. He'd seen Andren and Acton speaking after the meal had ended. He'd recognized the pinched expression on Andren's face as Acton walked away. And he worried that he might be doing more than uncovering a cell of traitors.

He might be living with a corrupt governmental official. And that kind always had the most to lose. He just needed to find out what Andren considered so precious that he'd betray his own country for it. Once he did that, he'd be ready to begin the real work.

Evan laid awake the rest of the night, considering his options and not liking where any of them led.

~TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:** So I'm a LOT later in the day than I like to be, and I apologize for the late post. But I got wrapped up with housework and finally had a chance to sit down. :D I have not responded to reviews yet, but know that I appreciate each and every one of them. :) Also, there's a kid's joke mentioned at the end of this chapter. If you'd like to know the full ditty, just PM me or mention it in your review, and I'll gladly send it along. (Oh, the things you learn when you have a tomboy for a daughter!) Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

Although Jennifer had decided to wait for Evan's return or news of his demise, she wavered in her commitment. She spent the next three days torn between her decision and Rodney's declaration. Of course, that man didn't make it easy to forget. He showed up daily, bringing her lunch and offering to help her any way he could. He passed it off as gratitude for Jennifer saving his life, but she knew better. He'd declared himself, and she'd done nothing to discourage him.

Sitting in her office at the end of three days, Jennifer rubbed her face and finally made a firm decision. She would wait. It would likely kill her, and she knew Rodney wouldn't understand. But, with Evan's painting hovering over her desk, she couldn't give up. "Good job," she muttered. "You decided this _three days_ ago. Why didn't you do something about it?"

_Because you like the attention_. Her mind filled in the blanks.

"Yeah, but it's not _Evan's_ attention." Jennifer scowled. That one kiss had changed how she saw so many things. She'd never felt such restrained passion in anyone, and she'd never imagine that Evan had such depth to him.

But Rodney offered an immediate fix to her problem. Even then, she doubted she'd feel the same level of excitement in Rodney that she felt with Evan. The two men were totally different. Rodney was emotion buried in science and totally unrestrained when it escaped. Evan was restrained emotion that knew how and when to reveal itself. Of course, that also meant Evan likely had depths that no one had seen as yet.

Tired of her thoughts, Jennifer pushed out of her chair and left the infirmary for the day. She intended to take a long shower, relax with a good book, and maybe get a good night's sleep. _Right_, she thought. _I don't think that's going to happen any time soon._

"Hey, Jennifer." Rodney came around the corner and reversed direction, his smile lighting his face. She admitted that it was a pleasant smile, and she did like the change in him. He glanced at her. "Would you like to get some dinner?"

Jennifer stopped in her tracks. This was her opportunity to put things into perspective for both of them. Her stomach knotted up, and she doubted that she'd be able to eat. But she knew what she needed to do. "Yeah." She nodded quickly. "I'd like that."

"Whoa, what happened?" Rodney's eyes shadowed with concern, and he reached out to touch her arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"You went pale for a moment."

"I'm. . . .I'm fine." She touched his arm. "I'll meet you in the mess hall after I clean up a bit." Rather than waiting for him to agree, she left him standing in the hall. It unnerved her that Rodney McKay could read her that well, and she wondered how everyone else saw her. She'd tried to be strong during this entire ordeal, but she'd struggled at moments. Sort of like now. She didn't want to crush the hope in Rodney's eyes, but. . . . "What am I going to say?"

Her empty quarters gave her nothing, and she quickly showered and changed into a clean uniform. No need to foster the impression that she saw this as a date. After pinning her hair into a messy bun, she left her quarters and made her way to the mess hall.

Rodney already sat at a table on the balcony, two trays in front of him. Jennifer smiled as she made her way over to him. He'd been thoughtful like this for three days. Tonight, he'd even snagged an extra fruit cup just for her. The little things he did made her feel even worse for dashing his hopes, but she couldn't give up on Evan. Not yet.

Slipping into the chair across from him, Jennifer saw that he merely pushed his food around. Instead of eating, he watched her closely. She picked up her fork but didn't start eating.

"What?" Rodney set aside his fork and stared at her. "Something's wrong. I knew it!"

Jennifer sighed deeply. "Rodney."

"What? I did something, didn't I?"

"No!" She spoke more forcefully than she'd intended and took a deep breath to quiet her voice. "No, you didn't. I did."

"What? No, you didn't."

"Yes, I did." She shook her head. "Rodney, you're. . . .I mean, I. . . .This isn't right. Us, I mean. I can't just. . . ."

"This is about Lorne, isn't it?" Rodney's face went blank, and he pushed away from the table. "I should have known."

Moving faster than she thought possible, she grabbed his wrist to keep him from leaving. "You couldn't have known." She shook her head. "Rodney, Evan and I. . . .We're not seeing each other or anything."

"But you love him." His sharp words, said without much emotion, made Jennifer blink.

"Yes," she whispered, admitting what she already knew. "And I can't get involved with you while he might still be out there. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Rodney pulled away and left the table.

Jennifer stared after him, her stomach turning as she realized she'd alienated a good friend. Rodney was a good man, but he wasn't Evan. And that made all the difference when she considered a long-term, hopefully intimate, relationship. She stood and gathered their trays, saving the fruit cups but planning to throw the rest of it away. As she did so, Rodney brushed right past Ronon as the Satedan appeared for dinner. Ronon glared at Rodney and then turned in time to catch Jennifer's regretful gaze. He moved to her side.

"Hey." His deep voice was soft, gentler than normal, as he took one of the trays she was juggling. "That about Lorne?"

Jennifer blinked at him, surprised. "Yeah. How did you. . .?"

"Sheppard told me." Ronon shrugged. "I get it."

She shook her head. "Well, I'm not sure how much Sheppard should have told you."

"Just that you had a thing for Lorne." He leaned down to whisper, "Wasn't much of a secret."

Jennifer flushed at that even though she knew it was the truth. The entire base knew of her little crush on Lorne, especially after his disappearance. She'd become something of a celebrity, though not in a good way. She was the poor woman left behind, and the sympathy had already become unbearable. But she determined to soldier on until she had news of Evan's fate. She turned to Ronon. "I know it doesn't make much sense. But I think he's still alive."

Ronon narrowed his eyes slightly. His skepticism showed faintly, but he shrugged. "Like I said, I get it." He put a large hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry about Rodney. He'll get over it."

"If you say so." Jennifer left the mess hall, not really wanting to talk to anyone right now. She'd managed to alienate one person on the base. Better that she get back to her quarters, where she couldn't do any further damage.

In her quarters, she settled onto her bed and pulled Evan's pillow close. Breathing in his scent, she smiled. When he returned, she'd be waiting. She refused to consider the idea that he may _not_ return. It simply wasn't an option.

oOo

It had been three days since Acton's ultimatum, and Andren was no closer to an answer than he'd been back then. In that time, he'd watched Evan closely, hoping for the transformation that would come when the man regained his memories. He prayed that Evan would have a miraculous recovery and leave Orenth before he was forced to give an answer to Acton. It wasn't to be, apparently. In those three days, Evan had painted one more portrait—this one titled _Teyla—_and had become even more frustrated with his memory loss.

Thankfully, there had been no further sleepwalking incidents. Andren felt that the names of the paintings were clues to Evan's past, and he intended to putting the word out for news about the names "Carson" and "Teyla." Someone, somewhere, had to have heard of those two individuals. Particularly Teyla. The painting Evan had done was of a beautiful woman, strong and powerful, with warm, tan skin and auburn hair. She stood before windows that admitted orange-gold light, one arm held above her and the other in front of her in some sort of fighting stance. The perspective of the woman was that of a man on the ground, and Evan said he remembered fighting with her. But, whether that fight was training or otherwise, he could not say. At this exact moment, Evan stood on the beach, painting yet another portrait. Andren hadn't been down to see the subject of this new one.

What did Evan intend to do with these paintings? Andren preferred thinking about his house guest over thinking about Acton's ultimatum. He'd eventually come back to Acton, but, for now, he wanted to help Evan. To protect Evan from the animosity and ruthlessness that Acton possessed. If Acton suspected for one moment that Evan worked for Culver, he'd kill Evan before he ever got back to his home.

Perhaps the art gallery in Talgrom would take some of Evan's work. It would be a way for the younger man to have an income, and several of Talgrom's well-to-do residents enjoyed unique art. And Evan's techniques were rather unique. Satisfied with that idea, Andren pushed to his feet and ambled down to the beach.

Evan stood with his back to the house, looking out to sea as he thought. His brush hovered above the canvas, and Andren spied a partially finished bridge spanning a different ocean. The red color of the bridge, not to mention the suspension cables and the city in the distance, was foreign to Andren. People could build bridges over such extreme distances? He'd never seen anything like it and immediately wanted to urge Evan to remember. He wanted to visit Evan's home and see the wonders of a more advanced society.

"Evan." His voice broke the silence.

Evan turned slightly, hiding the startled widening of his eyes behind a quick smile. "Hey, Doc."

Andren stopped next to him. "That is quite impressive."

Evan shrugged. "It just. . .popped into my mind. I feel like I've seen it before, but. . . ."

Andren put his hand on Evan's shoulder. "I wished to speak with you about your art."

Evan dropped his brush in the water he'd used to clean other brushes and turned, surprised. "Oh?"

"There is an art gallery in Talgrom." Andren raised his eyebrows. "Perhaps they'd be willing to display some of your work."

Evan turned and stared back out to sea. "I don't know." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "If these are memories, then they're personal. If they're not. . . ."

"Just think about it."

Evan nodded, and Andren left him to his thoughts. Returning to his home, his mind came back to Acton's ultimatum. Kaela hummed as she worked with Maeryn to prepare the evening meal, and Andren caught sight of her as he passed the kitchen. She shouldn't be alone. She should be married, a mother, a homemaker. She didn't deserve to remain like this her entire life because her father refused a reasonable request.

With a sigh, Andren climbed the stairs back to his office. He really had no choice. Not if he wanted to protect his own family. And that realization stung.

oOo

Evan listened to Andren climb the stone path back to the house and thought about his proposal. Selling his work was an attractive idea, and he knew he'd soon have more paintings than he had space on his walls. Perhaps, by selling them, someone would recognize what he'd painted.

Returning to work on the bridge, he went over the scenes he'd drawn in his book. These last three days had not been without nightmares. He'd awakened in the chair across the room every morning, but the lock on the door seemed to be holding. For now. Part of him wanted to complete the mission for Culver, and yet he knew that it wouldn't be an easy fix. Rooting out traitors was long-term, and Culver clearly intended to make use of Evan's amnesia for as long as possible.

He finished the painting and carefully carried it back to his room. He was tired, and he tried to keep his spirits up. But the length of time without a breakthrough in his memories weighed him down, and he retired early.

The next day, Andren came to him with news that Acton and Maitland wanted to speak with them. He quickly dressed and followed the doctor into town, knowing this could be an important meeting. He'd slept well the night before, seeing the bridge in his dreams. Vehicles moved across it, and he felt close to a breakthrough in his memories. But, right now, he needed to focus.

Acton and Maitland met them in a hotel restaurant. Evan slid into the booth, somewhat uncomfortable with how secluded the table really was. If they decided to slip a knife between his ribs, no one would be any wiser. A waiter came and delivered steaming cups of tea, and the men made small talk as they added cream and sugar to suit their personal preferences.

Once the waiter left them alone, Acton turned to Andren. "Have you considered my offer?"

"I have." Andren heaved a sigh. "And I accept."

Rather than smiling, Acton's eyes flickered to Evan and back to Andren. The doctor nodded once, and Evan realized he'd just been accepted. And that Andren had just betrayed Culver. It wasn't rocket science, and the direction of the conversation shifted, confirming his suspicions.

"Good." Acton sat back, relaxing only marginally. "I just received word that a large group of people came through the Ring yesterday. Culver's people swooped in and brought them to Talgrom."

Andren shook his head. "I've heard nothing about it."

"I didn't think you had." Acton glanced around the table. "I'm sending Maitland to infiltrate them. He'll pose as one of them and gain their trust. Hopefully, we can learn where they come from and how to use that against Culver."

Evan finally stirred. "And you're telling us why?"

Acton's sharp eyes landed on him, and he refused to back down from the challenge. Acton finally nodded. "You're members of the group. I felt you should know."

"Oh." Evan nodded, the corners of his mouth turning down in an expressive shrug. "Okay." He sipped his tea, hiding the worry developing in the pit of his stomach.

Acton shook his head. "I expect you to act as if nothing is wrong. Keep on with your plans for life, and I will contact you when I need information from Culver. Maitland?" He turned to face the other man in the booth. "You'll leave this evening."

Maitland nodded, and the two of them rose and left the booth. Evan stayed put, trapped in the seat by Andren. As soon as Acton left the restaurant, Andren leaned toward him. "You cannot tell Culver."

Evan nodded again. "Yeah, I got that."

"It's a test." Andren shook his head. "If Culver discovers Maitland too soon, it will give away your true intentions. You _must_ let this pass. If you do not. . . ."

"I got it." Evan set aside his tea, his stomach already turning.

Andren pushed out of the booth. "Acton has not told any other members of the group. Do not mention this the next time we meet with the others."

Evan nodded a third time, wishing he knew exactly how to get the doctor to settle down. He'd sensed something pass between Acton and Andren at the beginning of the meeting, and he felt the dismay pouring off of Andren. But he was powerless to do anything about it.

Walking back to the train station, Evan shook his head. He needed to return to his own people. But the desire to protect Andren from himself was too strong to ignore.

oOo

John Sheppard was on his way to drag Rodney to dinner when the physicist nearly bowled him over trying to escape his lab. Rather than commenting on the speed bump named John, Rodney kept right on walking and muttering to his computer.

"Rodney?" John reversed direction and followed his fast-moving friend.

Rodney kept walking.

"_Rodney!_" John raised his voice slightly.

Rodney flipped him off.

"MEREDITH!"

"WHAT?" Rodney whirled and yelled at him. "Oh, it's you."

"It's me." John frowned and pointed over his shoulder. "What's with you today?"

"Nothing's with me." Rodney went back to his computer, walking slower than before so John could fall into step with him. "I've got _way_ too many things to do to worry about what a _silly_, southern woman wants to discuss at the _most_ inopportune times!"

"Silly, southern woman?" John hated feeling left out of the loop, but he needed a bit more information. Ronon had come to him that afternoon after Rodney skipped both breakfast and lunch in favor of working. The big guy said something about Rodney burying himself or some such nonsense, but John hadn't given much credence to it until now. Normally, when Rodney buried himself in work, he paused for food. If he skipped meals, something was wrong. He grabbed Rodney's arm. "Stop walking!"

Rodney glared but stopped in his tracks. "Yeah, Dr. Bureaugard or Beau or some silly southern name." He waved a hand in front of his face. "Always talking in that distracting accent and saying the stupidest things to me."

"Like what?" John rocked back on his heels, recognizing that they'd stopped not too far from the door to Rodney's lab.

"We fight. All the time." Rodney continued punching buttons on his tablet. "And over stuff that I've been doing for years. I mean, seriously? What does a new recruit think she knows over _me_? I've been here since the beginning. I know what I'm talking about when it's time for power upgrades and software upgrades. But, when I try to correct her, she just smiles at me and says, 'Why, bless your heart!' It's getting _irritating_!"

John grinned, already seeing the humor in the situation. He knew Rodney wouldn't like what he had to say and quickly tried to wipe the grin away.

Rodney caught the grin. "What?"

"Nothing."

"No, it's not 'nothing' when you grin like that." Rodney folded his arms. "Spill. Now."

"Well. . . ." John shrugged. "She's from the deep south, right?"

"Yeah, South Carolina, I think." Rodney frowned. "Or is it _North_ Carolina? Or somewhere else?"

"Either way, when you're south of the Mason-Dixon line, that phrase means something totally different."

"Like what?"

"Well, it means 'You stupid. . .'" His voice trailed off as he heard a door open. Turning, he saw a pretty brown-haired woman with hazel eyes walking toward them.

Rodney groaned. "That's her," he muttered.

John, unable to avoid picking on his friend, turned on the famous Sheppard charm. "Doctor. How are you today?"

"Ah'm fine," she said, her accent drawing out her vowels. Rather than staring at him, like most women did, her gaze moved to Rodney immediately. "Docta McKay, have a pleasant evenin'." She sauntered off after giving McKay a coquettish smile.

John blinked and nearly fell over. The girl had the hots for McKay? And he was totally blind to it! Of course, it could have something to do with Keller and the fact that Rodney had been carrying a torch for the doctor for months now. Still, John's eyes narrowed as he began to plot a way to pull McKay from the doldrums. If this worked out. . . .

John left Rodney muttering at his computer in the hallway as he headed for the mess hall. McKay figured out he was leaving soon enough and jogged to catch up. Nothing else was mentioned about the southern girl, Keller, Lorne, or the way Rodney snapped at everyone in earshot. But, late that night, John sat in his room and really considered his options for helping his friend and teammate get over the heartache unwittingly caused by Jennifer Keller. That woman had enough heartache of her own, and John refused to even mention it to her.

When they found Lorne, he planned on having a long talk with Woolsey about relationships on Atlantis. When the bureaucrat arrived, he came down on a few couples, setting the example that romantic relationships were discouraged. Of course, he didn't know what previous leaders knew: romantic relationships, as long as they didn't interfere with work, kept everyone sane. John didn't want to watch another couple wither away because military regulations had tightened so drastically that couples were afraid to even take the first steps. Hopefully, Woolsey would have his head screwed on straight by then.

oOo

_The ocean breeze ruffled his hair as he settled onto the sand. In front of him, two small boys scampered into the waves, and he smiled. He loved it here, at home. To his right, that huge red bridge he'd been painting—the Golden Gate bridge, his mind told him—hovered above the water while he watched the boys splash and play. He wanted to join them, but the cast on his leg prevented that. When they finally made their way back to him, he blinked._

_He saw those same blue eyes in the mirror every morning. And the blond hair. . . .Had he seen it before? His mind filled in the details, and he narrowed his eyes as the boys returned to their play. Life lately had been difficult, but seeing them put it all into perspective. Just like seeing __her__ did for him._

Evan blinked at the window, not surprised that he'd fallen asleep in his chair. He clearly remembered moving over here late last night when he'd been unable to sleep. He'd sat up and given himself a headache as he mulled over his options concerning Maitland and the treason about to be committed. Andren was right. His hands were tied. If he went to Culver now, he would be discovered. Acton knew what he was doing, and Evan could do nothing to change that.

Somewhere in his musings, he fell asleep. Now, he rose and stared at the painting he'd hung near his bed.

He was a father? He frowned and went over the dream in his mind. His feelings for the two boys was definitely fatherly, and he saw the resemblance to himself. Could he have left more than just a wife behind? Could his _children_ be waiting for him?

Desperation to get back home filled him, and Evan worked for several long minutes to quell the panicked impulse to run from the house. He would swim. . .eventually. But, for now, he needed to absorb the implications and the possibilities. He could actually be a father. Shaking his head, he stared at his dream lady, finding it hard to believe that he could not remember her name. Or the names of his own sons. _If_ they were his sons. He had no proof to show for it outside of his dream, and he knew from first-hand experience that dreams could magnify the emotions.

Turning from the painting, he reached for his sketch book and began sketching the boys' features. He'd paint them, he knew, and he'd keep them close. If they were his sons, he wouldn't sell the portraits.

What if they weren't his sons? Evan shook his head as he worked. He cared about those two boys, and they would always mean the world to him. Around six and eight years old respectively, they had stolen his heart with their rough play and childish laughter. He remembered jokes from school, things he'd learned from them. _Whatcha doin'? Eatin' chocolate. . . ._He shuddered as the rest of that little joke floated through his head. It was so perfect for how he imagined himself at that age, and he knew he was related to those small boys.

His eyes went back to the painting. _One day_, he vowed silently. _I __will__ get back to you one day. And we'll talk about all those things we never said._

Evan left his sketch pad open to a drawing of the boys playing in the surf and gathered his clothes for his early-morning swim.

~TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:** Contains spoilers for "Whispers." Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

After his swim, Evan grabbed his final canvas and settled in his room to paint. He didn't want an audience for this. Like his painting of his dream lady, this one was private. Emotional. He hoped to remember more about the two boys from his dream as he painted, but he knew it was unlikely.

Who was he besides an artist and soldier? That question continually plagued him, and he struggled to hang on to his hope of remembering. Was it worth it? Was it worth the dreams and unanswered questions to maintain himself? Or should he simply give in and establish a life on Orenth?

Evan shook his head as he thought about the conversation he'd had with Kaela just the day before. After returning from Talgrom, he'd escaped to the beach to consider his options. He hadn't intended to go for a swim, and he'd been disappointed to find Kaela wandering the shoreline. Her feet were bare, and she lifted the hem of her skirt ever so slightly as she let the surf roll over her toes.

Evan had turned to leave her alone, but she'd seen him. Had invited him to walk with her. Not wanting to be rude, he'd agreed, and they'd strolled in silence. He ironically thought that Kaela was a nice girl, that she made a great friend. He didn't feel anything more than friendship for her, but he knew something could come between them if he'd allow it. Like always, his dream lady appeared in his mind, and he pushed her away. He had too much to think about today.

"You are troubled." Kaela said it like she knew the answers already but was prying for information.

Evan smiled and glanced down at his feet, where he still wore shoes. "Yeah, I am."

"Your memories?"

"Among other things."

She turned to him, her green eyes sparkling. "Can you tell me what you remember? Or would it be too painful?"

Evan had really looked at her then, seeing the curiosity mingled with attraction. This wasn't a woman blinded by her spinsterhood, though that loomed large in her mind. She truly wanted to know. He shrugged. "Well, I don't remember much."

She put a hand on his arm. "Just what you _do_ remember."

"I'm a member of the military." He frowned, wishing his recovered memories weren't of violence. "We travel through the Ring, fighting the Wraith and other enemies." Evan blinked. Was the key to recovering his memories talking about them?

Kaela shook her head. "It must be exciting to travel to other worlds."

"I imagine so." He frowned. "Honestly, I don't remember all that much. Most of it is related to the war prisoners' camp and our escape." He suddenly smiled. "I _do_ remember flying."

"Flying?"

"Yeah. In a device called. . . ." Evan nearly growled when him mind refused to supply the name.

Kaela didn't pester him about it but looked at the sky. "It must be wonderful to be so free."

He had followed her gaze, seeing a bird, and had agreed.

Now, in his room, he captured the two boys splashing in the ocean surf. Kaela was a great person to be around, and he had truly enjoyed their stroll along the beach. He had eventually turned the conversation to her and learned that she dreamed of opening her own soup kitchen for veterans of the civil war. But, more than that, she wanted to provide them with a safe place to heal from their experiences. Andren had apparently shared various heartbreaking stories with her, and she hoped to one day serve the veterans the way they'd served Talgrom.

Thinking back on the conversation, Evan readjusted his view of Kaela. He hadn't spent much time with her, but he'd automatically assumed that she was focused on marrying well and living a life of ease. After seeing her eyes light up and hearing her passion as she spoke, he realized that she'd developed into a woman of substance. One with whom he could be happy. His eyes left the painting of the two boys, and he stared at his dream lady. So, he had come to a choice.

A soft knock on his door interrupted his thoughts, and Evan moved to answer the summons. Andren stood on the other side. "I've just received word from Acton," the doctor whispered. "Maitland successfully infiltrated the refugees."

Evan nodded once, knowing that he still could not go to Culver with this information. "And. . .?"

"It seems they're the survivors of a plague that swept their world."

Evan's eyes narrowed, and he frowned. Something in that statement seemed incredibly familiar.

Andren caught the expression. "You have heard of this plague?"

Evan let out a frustrated sigh. "It sounds familiar, but I can't place it."

Andren nodded sympathetically. "Acton has promised to send word when Maitland learns more. Right now, the refugees are being kept in an outlying village. Culver has asked me to visit them. Would you care to accompany me?"

Evan's mind whirled. If he accompanied Andren, he'd have first-hand information to give to Culver about Maitland's whereabouts. However, Acton would know exactly who gave his operative away. He needed more, not just news that Culver's new army had been infiltrated by Derron's people. If, indeed, that's what Culver intended to do with these people. The more he learned about Culver, the less he liked the man.

Andren put a hand on Evan's shoulder. "I leave in two hours. Think about it."

Evan nodded and let the doctor leave, turning back to the half-finished painting of the two boys. His concentration had been shattered, and he cleaned his brushes as frustration mounted. He hated having his hands tied, and he knew it had happened more often than not. At times like this, he wanted to simply give up. Living without this frustration would make life so much easier, but he refused to quit.

Without knowing who he was, what was life? Evan shook his head at his own thoughts and prepared for his visit to the refugee hospital with Andren.

oOo

Jennifer had never been much of a drinker, and she was grateful she was on call tonight. Watching Cadman and Amelia nearly fall out of their chairs giggling told her that she'd already be passed out on the floor. Not to mention the inevitable hangover the other women would suffer in the morning.

Earlier that day, Cadman had breezed into the infirmary and all but ordered Jennifer to come to the girls' night out. She'd tried to get out of it, saying that she was on call since Colonel Sheppard and Dr. Beckett, newly returned from Earth, had left the city to assist Major Teldy's team. Cadman had merely shrugged and told her that she could be the "designated driver." Watching the women, Jennifer thought she'd need more than sobriety to help her get them back to their appropriate rooms when this was over. She'd need a gurney.

Cadman had managed to gather quite the group. She'd invited Jennifer, Teyla, Amelia, and several scientists from various departments. One of them, Susanna, worked with Rodney and eyed Jennifer hesitantly. News of Rodney's exit from the mess hall had swept the base, and everyone wondered exactly what had happened to put the physicist into such a horrible funk. Jennifer didn't wonder. She bore that responsibility, and she almost felt bad for Susanna. If Rodney had been as much of a bear as the gossip indicated, she'd likely taken the brunt of his anger. Though, based on her current condition, Jennifer doubted the woman cared too much. At the moment, Susanna lounged against the side of the bed in Cadman's guest quarters, a silly smile on her face as she drank yet another glass of Ruus wine. Teyla had already commented that she regretted bringing the wine at Cadman's request and now shared a sympathetic smile with Jennifer.

"Wha' didja do?" Amelia asked, her words more than a little slurred.

Cadman shrugged. "Enjoyed it!"

The two women dissolved into a fit of laughter yet again. Cadman had just finished telling Amelia about an intense make-out session with Chuck, the gate technician. Though, at the time as well as now, she'd been more than a little snockered.

Jennifer shook her head. Cadman had begun the evening with modest glasses of Ruus wine for everyone and plans for poker. It had devolved into a drinking contest soon enough. Jennifer wanted to leave, but she couldn't let these women pass out here. Though none of them would likely care. It just reminded her too much of her college days. A glance at her watch told her that it was probably time to go, and she let out a brief sigh. Hearing these women talk about their adventures with men did not add up to an enjoyable evening for Jennifer. Not in the least.

Apparently Teyla thought the same thing. She pushed to her feet. "I believe I will take my leave."

Jennifer jumped up. "Me, too."

Susanna set aside her empty cup and tried to stand. Instead, she stumbled over onto the bed and giggled along with Cadman and Amelia. Jennifer rolled her eyes in disgust. She did not understand how men found this kind of behavior attractive or amusing. As a doctor, she knew the damage these women had placed themselves into, though she'd been powerless to stop it. Or so she felt.

Teyla turned to Susanna. "Are you planning to leave with us, Doctor?"

Susanna nodded. "Yeah. An' name's Susanna." She stumbled as she took a step toward the door, and Teyla smoothly lifted one of her arms over her shoulder.

Cadman and Amelia waved. "Bye!" They dissolved into giggles again and frowned at the bottoms of their cups. Jennifer knew enough to know that she could not stop them from drinking if they didn't want to be stopped.

Out in the hall, Cadman's outrageous giggles faded into silence as Susanna tried to walk between Jennifer and Teyla. The two sober women exchanged glances. Teyla truly did not understand the attraction Cadman had to dangerous behavior, and Jennifer disdained the whole alcohol-induced-euphoria. She made plans to have hangover remedies ready first thing in the morning for the ladies and slipped one of Susanna's arms over her shoulders.

Susanna started talking when they reached crew quarters. "I know you don' un'erstan' why I did it."

Jennifer frowned. "Did what?"

"Got drunk." Susanna giggled. "Yeah, good li'l southern girl is drunk. SO WHAT?" She asked the last question at the top of her lungs.

Jennifer shook her head. "It's not important right now, Susanna. Maybe tomorrow you can tell me."

"No, now." Susanna glanced at Teyla. "See, I 'ave this thing for my boss."

Teyla raised an eyebrow at Jennifer before asking, "And your boss is. . .?"

"Ro'ney Ma-Kay." Susanna braced herself against the wall next to her door and turned to face Jennifer and Teyla. "He's a good man, but. . . ." She shrugged expressively and tried to enter her code on her door's crystals. When it failed, she frowned and tried again. After a third try, Jennifer entered her medical override and let the woman into her room. As Susanna fell forward, she raised a finger. "I know you all think he's jus' a scientist, but I see 'im diff'rently. He's a good man. . . .a good man." Her voice trailed off as she stumbled over to a chair. "He's jus' been hurt is all."

Jennifer stared at the woman in front of her. Susanna likely hadn't been this drunk in. . .well, ever. Ruus wine was known to knock even Colonel Sheppard on his tail. Teyla and Ronon routinely drank a small glass when among her people, but they never consumed it in these quantities. Jennifer almost felt sorry for Susanna, a recent arrival on Atlantis. The city could be overwhelming at times, but being assigned to work with Rodney McKay on his bad days could overwhelm a person. However, Susanna seemed to have seen through the gruffness of his exterior to the good heart beneath it all. Much like Rodney had shown to Jennifer before she crushed his hopes two days ago.

Feeling suitably chastised, Jennifer realized that Susanna had passed out in her chair. She and Teyla awkwardly helped the woman into her bed and covered Susanna with a crocheted throw. Teyla waited for Jennifer as she locked Susanna's door, and the two women walked toward their quarters in silence.

"Jennifer." Teyla spoke at the corner of the corridor that would take them separate ways. She put a hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "I know how you feel. And, if you need to talk, please do not hesitate to find me."

Jennifer stared at Teyla, remembering when Kanaan had disappeared along with all the other Athosians. "I'll do that."

Teyla went her way, and Jennifer returned to her quarters with her mind whirling. Of course Teyla would understand. She had endured months while the father of her unborn child was missing. She'd had to watch him go through the painful process of reverting back to human form after Michael had made him a hybrid. If _anyone_ understood what Jennifer felt about Evan's absence, it would be Teyla.

Needing her sleep but restless all the same, Jennifer changed into workout attire and took a long run. She ended up at the newly-established swimming pool, recalling the faint hint of chlorine on Evan's pillow. He'd come here to swim regularly. Walking to the edge of the pool, she dipped her hand in the cold water. It was just one reminder that he hadn't returned, and she sat down. The tears she'd held on to since falling asleep in Evan's room flowed, and she allowed herself to truly understand that someone in this city did know how she felt.

oOo

Rodney McKay stood rooted in place as Teyla and Jennifer walked the other direction in silence. Susanna Beadore had the hots for him? That hadn't happened since. . .well, _ever_. He frowned at his tablet, wondering again why he could never remember names until times like these. But, if he'd never heard her drunken ramblings, he wouldn't have known that the pretty southern scientist actually liked him.

If she liked him, then why was she always fighting with him? Rodney shook his head and continued toward his lab. He'd tried sleeping, but his mind simply wouldn't shut off. So he rose and headed for the one place he truly felt at peace. In the lab, he turned on the desk lamp and began working while his mind mulled over recent events.

Yes, Jennifer had crushed him. Rodney was still angry over losing out to Lorne—especially when the man wasn't even on Atlantis anymore—but he actually respected Jennifer's choice. It took a day or so to work through the hostility. Somewhere in his mind, however, he realized that he'd want a girl who stayed loyal to him if he ever got stuck off world.

Was that girl Susanna Beadore? Rodney sat back in his chair with a frustrated sigh as he realized his thoughts had come back around to the thorn in his side that inhabited his lab during the days. If he were really honest, he'd admit to enjoying the verbal sparring. He needed that outlet, and Susanna seemed willing to take the abuse so others got their work done. In a strange way, his team had been more productive when he fussed only at one person rather than at all of them. That explained why he griped at Zelenka all the time.

Not sure he wanted to continue thinking and knowing that Susanna wouldn't want him to know about her drunken ramblings, Rodney compartmentalized them into a little box in his brain. He returned to his work, determined to hold on to his hostility a bit longer.

oOo

The refugee camp Evan and Andren visited was actually quite nice. Culver had set up the refugees outside of Talgrom's city limits as a precaution against infecting his own people with whatever plague these survivors had endured. But they didn't live in filthy, threadbare clothing like he'd originally suspected. The facilities were as clean as possible, and Evan saw men and women wearing clean clothing moving amongst the refugees, treating wounds and illnesses. None of the people looked deathly ill, however, and he spotted Maitland among them. Rather than staring at the man, he turned and watched as Andren conferred with one of the chief doctors.

Culver clearly wanted to make his government a strong presence here. Between Andren and the soldiers, it was painfully obvious that these refugees were seen as a bargaining chip. There had to be around three hundred of them, a large enough group that it would have been difficult for Culver's forces to subdue them if they'd fought back. But, with control of the Ring, Culver could swoop in and keep them from Derron and his small army. Not only that, but they could become a powerful weapon for Culver. A political victory.

And Evan suddenly understood why Culver had recruited him. It didn't matter that he had lost his memories. Using a national hero to bring down a cell of traitors would reflect well on Culver.

That evening, Evan knocked on Andren's door. "Do you have a moment?"

"Of course." Andren set aside his work and rose to offer Evan a drink. "Come in."

Evan looked around the office. A large desk sat in front of bookshelves, and a small table held various containers of alcoholic beverages. He declined one and walked to the windows, which overlooked the ocean. Being on the first floor, he could not see the beach, but the ocean spread out in front of him, sparkling in the moonlight.

Andren settled into his chair, which squeaked a bit. "What's on your mind, Evan?"

Evan didn't turn from the view. "What is this war _really_ about?" He glanced over and saw Andren had already begun to speak. He cut the man off. "I mean, I know what Culver told me. I also know that you and Acton have some sort of arrangement. What are the real issues?"

Andren let out a defeated sigh. "Political greed. And corruption."

"Derron believes Culver used his considerable wealth to bribe his way into office."

"Yes."

"Did he?"

Andren hesitated. "There's no evidence of that."

"But. . .?"

"Let's just say I have my doubts." Andren set aside his drink. "Evan, you're caught in the middle. You're a hero because you saved a few people. But Culver would become an even greater hero for capturing Derron."

"Is Derron so bad?"

Andren was quiet for so long that Evan didn't think he would answer. Finally, he spoke. "He could be." Shaking his head, he reached for his drink again. "Derron is young. Arrogant. He had a good chance to win the Prime Minister position, but he squandered it with a campaign designed to slander Culver. Whereas Culver campaigned based on what the people wanted."

Evan chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds like politics."

"And that's what it was. Until Culver pushed back." Andren shook his head. "By this time, the election was over. Culver was in office. Derron was still active in government, but he had become increasingly vocal about Culver and his corruption. Derron took it upon himself to personally destroy Culver, something Culver could not have. He put out the word that Derron was to be arrested, but Derron escaped before the arrest could be made. He hid near Talgrom, slowly gathering power."

"He was planning to subvert Culver? Stage a coup?"

"That's what we think." Andren sighed again. "But things turned sour once again. Culver somehow got wind of the plot, and Derron was forced to withdraw. When he went, he took a large portion of Culver's loyalists. And that is how the war started. The first shot was fired not long after, and we've been locked in this blasted conflict ever since."

"How long has it been going on?"

Andren stopped and thought for a moment. "Two years."

Evan turned back to the window. He'd thought he was working for the right government, but he could no longer be certain. Culver put on a good show, but Evan had done no research into his policies. He turned back to Andren. "Is there a library in Talgrom? A place where local political news is archived?"

"Yes." Andren eyed him. "If you are thinking to investigate, Evan, I must warn you to be wary. Culver has spies everywhere."

"So does Derron." Evan shrugged. "Andren, my hands are tied no matter where I go. And so are yours. You're stuck between your beliefs, Culver, and Acton's ultimatum—whatever that might be. I am stuck here because I have no memory of who I am. Or _what_ I am for that matter. I'm not about to throw my lot in with Derron after the man imprisoned me. Nor am I fully sold on Culver, either."

Andren pushed to his feet and walked to Evan's side. He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "Just be careful."

Evan nodded. "I plan to." He left the office with his mind in a whirl. He'd seen a lot, and his instincts had proven right today. He needed more information, and he somehow believed that his memories just might unlock if he was able to uncover the reason for his unease.

Glancing once more at Andren's office door, Evan climbed the stairs and locked himself into his room. It had worked to keep him from straying when he sleepwalked, and he knew he'd need the privacy tonight. During the day, Maeryn had changed the bed linens, and they'd been tucked tightly into the mattress. He ironically thought that he could bounce a quarter off of the bed and then froze. What a strange custom.

Changing into nightclothes, he climbed into bed and stared at the ceiling. He should have asked more questions during his conference with Culver and Grian. He should have asked more questions of Andren. And he should have asked them long before now. Feeling like he'd barely awakened, he turned the new information over in his mind and tried to figure out what to do now.

oOo

"_Go to sleeeeep," the voice whispered. He fought against it, fought against the pain in his leg and the dust around him. A blurry form paced in the tiny space as he struggled to keep his eyes open. He shouldn't be sleeping. He should be finding a way out of this trap._

_The man trapped with him muttered, but he couldn't make out the words. Only that he was getting incredibly annoyed. He tried to stay calm, but he couldn't quell the panic rising. He shouldn't be under this rubble. He should be rescuing one of his people from Michael. Not trapped._

"_Go to sleeeeeep." That voice was back again, with a hiss designed to be creepy. Or so he thought. He struggled, but couldn't move._

"_No!" It came out in a soft whisper. "NO!" he shouted._

"_You will sleeeeep." The exhaustion that suggestion brought up alarmed him. He'd been exhausted before, but never like this. Never so powerfully that he could not hold his eyes open. He moved his hand, intending to rub his face, but it stayed trapped at his side. His eyes flew open, and he looked down. He lay in his bed in Andren's home, but strange red tentacles had grown out of his stomach. They wrapped around the bed, up the posters, and over the canopy. His gaze followed them around to where they trapped him to the wall as well. He felt them moving in his abdominal cavity, growing and gathering strength._

"_No! Let me go!"_

"_Go to sleeeeeep!"_

_His heart pounded even louder than normal for a moment. "I don't want to sleep!"_

"_You will sleeeep."_

"_No!"_

"_Sleeeeep." It whispered through his mind._

_He struggled, grunting and shouting in pain. If he went to sleep, he knew he would not survive. His heart pounded again, this time so loud it made his head ache as he fought against his captor._

He sat upright in bed, the tight covers falling away from his shoulders as he shouted at the wall. Someone pounded on the door again and rattled the lock. Not quite awake, still panicked from the dream, Evan pushed the blankets away from his body and jumped from bed. The ocean breeze cooled sweat-soaked skin, and he swallowed convulsively. His throat ached like he'd been shouting, though he had no idea for how long. Blinking away the last vestiges of the nightmare, he moved to the door and unbolted the lock.

Andren, Maeryn, and Kaela all stood in the hall, their faces pale as they stared at him. Andren held a light and peered over Evan's shoulder. "You were dreaming?"

Evan nodded, still not fully ready to face the dark room. Glancing at Kaela and Maeryn, he vaguely felt sorry for them but turned back to the room now that Andren had shined the light inside. He blinked at the sight of his bed, still almost perfectly made save for slight evidence of his struggle. He frowned, clearly remembering being trapped in bed. But someone else had been trapped with him. He hadn't been alone.

"Evan?" Andren's voice intruded into his questions, and he saw that Kaela and Maeryn had left them alone.

"Yeah, I'm fine, doc." He shook his head. "I just. . . ."

"Remembered something?"

Evan frowned. "Not something I really wanted to remember." He shuddered inwardly. "But I wasn't the only one." For once, his mind allowed him to access his memories, and he began putting names to faces he'd seen in his dreams. Edison had survived. As had Coughlin thanks to a nasty cold that kept him back on base when they were trapped under that rubble.

Andren eyed him. "You lock yourself into your room?"

"Yeah." Evan rubbed his face. "I didn't want to go walking around at night."

"You know that it will do no good for you. That you _can_ unlock this door in your sleep." Andren's words made him nod.

"Yeah, doc, I know." Evan shrugged. "But I had to try."

Andren nodded and left him alone again. Evan locked the door behind the man but knew he wouldn't return to sleep. Not after that dream. Somehow, it unlocked a portion of his mind. He clearly remembered the voice urging him to sleep, not to mention overhearing that someone else was also trapped in the same condition. Jane, maybe? No. Jen. He was sure he'd heard the name Jen while he'd been lying in that bed, trapped by those tentacles. Walking to the wall with the painting of his dream lady, he smiled.

"Hello, Jen," he said, reaching out to touch the painting. He smiled and headed for his chair. He'd remembered her name. And that made all the difference.

~TBC


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note:** I apologize for a late posting, but I forgot this afternoon. And then I had unexpected company. But it's my high school best friend and her family, so I can't complain. :) This chapter contains minor spoilers for "Whispers" and spoilers for "The Queen." Hope you enjoy! ~lg

oOo

"Evan, come with me." Andren's tone brooked no arguments, and Evan set aside his sketch pad, leaving it on the back patio as he followed the doctor inside. He'd been drawing images from his nightmare after having been awake since the very early hours of the morning. He'd tried loosening the sheets to return to bed, but he simply couldn't relax.

He'd remembered her name! That alone thrilled him. He felt like a kid who had been given his greatest desire. And, yet, he didn't have full access. While he remembered events, he could not name the place he called home. And it went beyond frustrating.

Inside, Evan blinked when Acton rose from his place in front of Andren's desk. Andren closed the door behind them and motioned Evan into a chair.

Acton wasted no time. "Maitland has been discovered."

Evan sent an alarmed glance to Andren, who shook his head. The doctor shrugged, his own concern evident on his face. "We have no idea how."

For a moment, Evan wondered if Acton suspected him of betraying Maitland. But he'd not even spoken to the other man during his visit yesterday, nor had he acknowledged his presence. Nothing, not even the tiniest glance, had passed between them. He hadn't seen Culver since the dinner party where he received his actual orders.

Acton speared Evan with a stare. "We think you could help him."

"Me?" Evan blinked. "I have no idea how."

"Oh, I think you do." Acton smiled, though his eyes showed no trace of friendliness. "Relax, Evan. I do not suspect you of betraying our cause. Quite the opposite. I know for a fact that Culver favors you as a hero. I merely wish to use that to our advantage, getting you into the Ministry and freeing Maitland before he can be interrogated."

"And by interrogated you mean tortured," Evan said dryly. The more he learned about Culver, the less he liked the guy. Handlebar mustache or not, he wasn't the friendly face he pretended. He hadn't had a chance to do any research, but he could already see the writing on the wall. This government was ready to collapse, and Culver would have to make a bold move to keep it together.

"Exactly." Acton jabbed a finger through the air. "I'd like you to go to the Ministry with Andren tomorrow. Andren will demand to see the prisoner on the premise of rendering medical assistance. You will be responsible for getting him out." Satisfied with himself, Acton stood.

"Wait." Evan held up a hand. "Just the two of us?"

"Do you need more men?"

Evan wanted to say that he wanted his team, but he remembered in time that he didn't have a team. Drawing himself up to his full height, he nodded. "I'll see what I can do."

"Good." Acton waved Andren back into his chair. "I'll let myself out."

After the man left, Andren glared at Evan. "Do you understand what just happened?"

"Yeah, we've landed ourselves in something we can't get out of." Evan shook his head. "Andren, I remembered a lot last night. Names. Faces. But nothing that can help us now."

Andren leaned forward. "You're a military man, Evan. A strategist. From what I've seen of your drawings, you have no problems with taking on the seemingly impossible situations."

Evan let out a deep breath. "Okay." He reached for a blank sheet of paper and pushed a pen toward Andren. "Draw me a schematic of the Ministry and prison."

oOo

Kaela rose late, the result of having been awakened during the night. She dressed for the day, left her room, and wandered out onto the back patio. Normally, she would watch Evan swimming in the surf, turning away before he left the water. Today, she was grateful she'd missed the morning ritual.

What kind of man had nightmares so bad that he woke the entire house? Or locked himself in his room? When he'd opened the door to see them standing there, he'd blinked in confusion and then turned to stare at the bed. Kaela's heart had broken when she saw the dazed, frightened look in his eyes, and she felt herself withdrawing.

Could she really handle someone like Evan? Was she cut out to become involved with a man whose nightmares caused violent reactions? She'd had her share of bad dreams, but none had incited that sort of reaction.

A breeze blew across the patio and ruffled pages. Kaela turned and caught sight of Evan's sketch pad. That man had just left her father's study and headed upstairs with a determined look on his face, so she began flipping through the images. At first, she saw multiple drawings of the woman he clearly loved. Her smile. Laughing. Angry. All kinds of expressions in between. Then came pictures of his men. He'd labeled each of them in a writing she could not read, but she saw the way he showcased them. And then, she found the stories drawn rather than written. She followed the sequences of events, seeing the harsh reality she'd ignored.

Evan was more than just a soldier. He was highly trained by his military to carry out the toughest of assignments, much like many of the veterans she served in the soup kitchen. Men like Evan didn't just break down and have nightmares that caused them to shout the house awake. They typically held it in until they could withstand the pressure no longer.

Then, she came to the recent sketches. After pages of sketches of different people, including the faces he'd painted for the gallery, she found the true cause of his nightmares. A self-portrait sent a chill down her spine. In the image, Evan lay in a bed while tentacles grew from his stomach.

Kaela slammed the sketch book closed and drew in ragged breaths. These images reminded her of the horrific stories told by children around a campfire. The intention was to scare the younger ones so the older ones could enjoy more time to themselves. Evan had _lived_ those stories, though, and Kaela shook her head. All this time, she'd imagined him as a leader, a man who spent his time training. Not out in the field. If they were to even begin a relationship—which she'd come to doubt—how would she handle his emotional scars? _Could_ she handle his scars?

All at once, she was grateful that he'd put a wall between them. It would make it easier to withdraw.

oOo

Jennifer stared out the view port of the Puddle Jumper, her eyes wide.

John glanced back at her. "Never seen a Hive in space, huh?"

"I've never seen one, period." Jennifer realized what she'd said. "I mean, I've seen video logs but never in person."

"Ah, you never forget your first time," Rodney said with a smirk.

Jennifer glanced at him and returned to watching the approaching Hive ship. Over the last twenty-four hours, Rodney's attitude toward her had changed. It seemed as if he'd decided it wasn't in his best interest to antagonize the Chief of Medicine. Jennifer had never used her position in that fashion, but she appreciated the thought. And the relief. Having Susanna spill her guts about liking Rodney put Jennifer in the mood of a matchmaker, but she didn't want Rodney to feel pressured.

The last twenty-four hours had not been without its stresses. In her free time, Jennifer had been working on perfecting Carson's retrovirus, trying to use the information from Michael's hybrids and apply it in such a way that it neutralized the Wraith's need to feed on human life. With Evan missing, she'd devoted more and more hours to the work, needing the distraction. And she'd made a breakthrough right as Colonel Sheppard and Major Teldy returned to Atlantis with the remnants of the major's team. Alicia Vega's body had not even been able to be recovered from the planet with the freaky hybrids Michael had left behind. Jennifer had tried to be supportive, but she'd felt woefully inadequate to offer any comfort to them. So she'd run.

_Right to a Hive ship?_ she asked herself sarcastically. She still couldn't believe arrangements had moved this fast. John had managed to sneak in a four-hour nap-doctor's orders-before piloting their Jumper up to Todd's Hive. They'd been invited, of course, but it still didn't make their situation any less insane.

John received docking instructions, and Jennifer felt as if the Jumper had been swallowed by the Hive. Which was an accurate description. She stared as they landed and jumped when someone—or, rather, some_thing—_pounded on the back hatch of the Jumper.

John smirked. "Right on cue."

Ronon drew his blaster and twirled it while John retrieved the rifle sitting next to Jennifer's medical kit. She stayed in her seat for a moment and then pushed herself to her feet. Rodney actually offered her a sympathetic smile before rising and following Teyla to the rear of the little ship. John opened the hatch, and Jennifer drew back when she saw two Wraith drones with stunners.

John tensed. "This looks a little familiar."

A raspy voice interrupted the tension. "Lower your weapons."

The Wraith drones glanced back and lowered their stunners. John and Ronon glared as Todd appeared. The Wraith commander eyed both of them. "My apologies. You understand: you can't be too careful."

Jennifer wanted to roll her eyes. But John and Ronon lowered their weapons before she could say anything.

Todd grinned at them. "Welcome to my ship."

oOo

Evan sat back in his chair and rolled his shoulders. He'd been hunched over the crudely drawn schematic for hours, trying to figure the best way to infiltrate the Ministry and free Maitland. Not that he wanted Maitland to escape. But he wanted to make sure Acton trusted him. It would make his job for Culver much easier. . .if he continued to work for Culver. Either way, having allies both in the Ministry and in Acton's group could work in his favor.

He ran a hand over his face and blinked gritty eyes at the map. Andren had marked guard posts and armory locations, but much of it was guesswork. Evan sighed. He had less than twenty hours before he would pull off an extraction that a special operations team would normally execute. Then, he frowned. Was this an "extraction" or a jail break? The lines had been blurred, and he wasn't able to tell the difference any longer.

Pushing away from the small table in his bedroom, Evan reached for his sketchpad and frowned. It wasn't in its normal place on his nightstand. He stood and looked around the room, belatedly realizing that he'd left it on the back patio when Acton arrived that morning. It was now late afternoon. If anyone was going to look at it, the damage had been done. Rather than panicking, he took the time to put his plans for the next day away before heading downstairs.

"Please." Andren's semi-desperate voice came from the kitchen as Evan passed. "Do this for me."

"Andren." Maeryn sounded worried. "_What_ is happening?"

Evan moved quietly, putting his back to the wall and peering around the corner. Andren, Maeryn, and Kaela stood in the kitchen, all three standing close by. The women looked distressed, and Andren was doing his best to hide his fear. None of them saw him, and he hated to eavesdrop. But he'd reached the stage of needing to know everything.

Andren let out a sigh. "I just think you should get out of the city for a while."

Evan pulled away from the door and headed for the back patio. So Andren was sending his family away. That could mean that he expected them to fail in their rescue of Maitland. Or it could mean that he was merely making provisions. If it had been Jen in this situation, Evan likely would have asked her to leave town as well.

But would she? He knew she was a doctor, and he knew she was strong. But was she strong enough to endure what he was about to do? He thought so based on his memories and the instinctive feelings he had. After all, she was a doctor. And doctors went into all kinds of situations to treat their patients.

He found his sketchbook on the table where he'd left it, but the pencil had disappeared. He didn't remember closing the book, but that didn't matter. Someone had likely seen it by now.

Taking the sketchbook back to his room, Evan eyed the half-finished painting of the two boys. His sons? He still thought it was a possibility, but that thought had begun fading. If he did half of the things he'd remembered thus far, he likely had shied away from romantic relationships. Which made his love for Jen that much more amazing in his mind.

With a sigh, Evan returned to his plans and spent the next two hours pouring over the schematics. He saw a possible weakness they could exploit for their escape. But he would have to get Maitland out of the cell before he could use the lax security at the hospital next to the Ministry. Ironically, it was the same hospital where he'd met Andren.

A knock on his door brought his head up. He quickly closed the file he'd compiled—habit, maybe—and answered the knock. Kaela peered up at him. "Do you have a few moments?"

Evan stepped out of his room and followed her downstairs. "What's on your mind?"

Kaela shrugged. "I just wanted to let you know that I'm taking a trip. Going to be visiting family in the countryside."

His eyebrows rose. So that's what Andren planned to use to keep his family safe. "And this isn't a good thing?"

She shrugged. "It is, I guess. But Father is anxious. I just wanted to make sure you'll take care of him while Mother and I are gone."

Evan suddenly understood her concern. He'd worried about Andren's involvement with Acton and wondered if it was such a great thing. He couldn't imagine being the man's child and knowing some of what was happening. Rather than nodding, he reached out and touched her elbow. "I'll look after him as much as I can."

Kaela smiled suddenly, her relief temporarily drowning out the fear in her eyes. "Thank you, Evan." She stepped around him and returned to her preparations. An hour later, Evan watched from the train platform as she and her mother left their home behind.

oOo

Dahlia Radim headed for the Stargate with a happy expression on her face. Her position in her brother's government afforded her many liberties, but she rarely took advantage of them. Today, however, it was time to put the Genii's trading agreements to work for her own personal gain.

As she dialed a favorite address, Dahlia ironically thought that she was doing exactly what Cowen had done in the past. Unlike Cowen, however, this was not a regular occurrence. She had a fondness for art from various worlds, and her recent advancement prompted her brother, Ladon, to approve her purchase of a new painting for her personal quarters. She hadn't been to Orenth in a long time, not since the days following her recovery in Atlantis. But she looked forward to seeing the unique art created by their artisans. Who knew if she'd walk away with a painting or a sculpture? The gallery she planned to visit had both.

As the wormhole established, a brief worry flitted through Dahlia's mind. She hadn't been to Orenth since the beginning of the civil war. For that reason, her brother assigned two men to protect her, and they would remain in the background as she browsed the art. No one could fault her, the sister of the Genii's leader, for having bodyguards so long as they didn't cause a disturbance. One of them stepped through the gate and soon responded that the area was clear.

Dahlia walked through the wormhole and came face to face with Culver, the current Prime Minister of Talgrom. He smiled at her in a friendly way, but she could not shake the concerns Ladon had instilled in her. "Prime Minister."

"Dahlia Radim." Culver bowed slightly out of respect for her. Meant to be graceful, it gave her the impression of a man merely biding his time to strike. "Welcome to Orenth."

"Thank you." She smiled slightly. "The art gallery?" _Better to keep things on the level,_ she thought, using a phrase she'd heard while on Atlantis. Thinking of those people, she wondered how they'd fared in recent days. Their relocation had been cause for worry about a year ago, and the recent batch of problems created by this Michael had necessitated several trips to the city. Ladon had taken those, much to Dahlia's consternation. She hadn't had a chance to visit since recovering from radiation poisoning.

Colonel Sheppard had visited Ladon not long ago with news of a missing officer. Dahlia didn't know which officer had gone missing, but she'd heard that Dr. Beckett had died. Sadness for the kind doctor, as well as for the distant friends she'd made in the city, had pricked at her mind but been put aside for the sake of the Genii. Her new life did not need regrets, and she would not waste it. Still, she often thought about that city.

Culver made small talk as they walked into Talgrom. Dahlia had often wondered why the people didn't at least bring a wagon or some such transportation out to the gate, but she endured the endless prattling about recent events, a new hero who had saved several soldiers, and the arrival of refugees from yet another world. She tucked each of the tidbits away in her mind for Ladon, knowing he'd want to hear them. But, for now, she planned to find the perfect piece of art.

At the gallery, Culver bowed again in that ingratiating way of his. "I must return to the Ministry. I hope your search is successful."

Dahlia smiled slightly. "Thank you, Prime Minister." She waited until Culver and his escort had disappeared before entering the art gallery.

Paintings of various types assaulted her, and she shook her head. The recent war must have changed the art styles of this world, and she wasn't fond of monochromatic color tones. She got enough of gray and green in the Genii city. She wanted vibrancy, light, and the illusion of motion. Then she turned and saw a flash of color. Moving in that direction under the watchful eye of the proprietor, she entered an area with several paintings, all of which set her heart to pounding.

The paintings were bright and vibrant, but Dahlia ignored that. Glancing at the price, she realized she could purchase two of them. And she chose wisely. Carrying the paintings back to the gate, she prepared her spiel for Ladon and for Atlantis.

It looked as if she'd found their missing officer.

oOo

_The spires of the city rose in front of him as he walked into the warm ocean air. It smelled different here. In his last home, the ocean smelled like an ocean. This one. . . .He couldn't describe it. But the colors, the sounds, the day/night cycle, and a host of other things was so different from what he'd been accustomed._

_He set aside his load and walked to the edge of the balcony. It felt good to be free. To know that his mistakes of the past weren't going to haunt him forever. He could finally let go of all the guilt he'd secretly carried since Carson's death._

_Setting up the canvas, he prepared his paints and began working on a landscape. While the city was still fuzzy in his dream, it was perfectly clear on the canvas. Beautiful spires that reflected the morning sun. A star-shaped layout. He felt as if he'd painted the image from above, from the machine he used to fly though he couldn't be sure. But he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he'd lived in this city for a long time. And he felt as if he'd come home._

Evan woke slowly, his covers thrown back but not over him. He rubbed his eyes and blinked at the faint hint of dawn. Today, he would infiltrate Talgrom's Ministry building to free Maitland. He'd retired late, his mind whirling with all his plans to get the man out alive. If everything went according to those plans, he should return to this room later this evening with Acton none the wiser to his true affiliation.

And what was that? Evan had managed to figure out that he supported neither of the governing bodies on Orenth. He just could not shake the suspicion that Culver was hiding something in order to stay in office. But he had no proof. Nor did Derron, hence the reason for the war. Still, freeing Maitland was something if he could convince the man to disappear. To get away from Acton and go after Kaela.

Evan smiled as he thought about that particular woman. She had not acted the same toward him yesterday, and he wondered if his nightmare had scared her away. Part of him was relieved at that. He wouldn't have to break her heart when he finally found a way to return to Jen. It also removed another big worry from his mind. If things went sideways with this rescue mission, he wouldn't have to think about whether Kaela and Maeryn would suffer recriminations.

Now, all he had to think about was Andren. Evan gathered his clothing and headed down to the beach for his morning swim while he considered the other man. Andren wasn't the kind of person he'd imagined being his partner in this sort of mission. He was old, for lack of a better way of putting it. He trusted too easily. And he had a personal stake in the matter. Evan hadn't been told anything about Andren's treason, but he suspected Acton had threatened Kaela and Maeryn. Why would Andren send them away except to get them out of Talgrom if things went sour?

As he swam through the cold ocean water, Evan allowed his mind to sharpen. He'd not experienced this level of adrenaline or focus since waking in Talgrom's hospital, but he recognized it just the same. He was preparing for a mission. His focus narrowed, and he set aside all thoughts of Jen and finding his home. Oh, after he was finished, he'd fill the time sketching the city he'd seen. But it wouldn't hold him. His pencil would move over the page while his mind rehearsed every portion of his plan. Which, at this moment, seemed completely insane. If Acton wanted proof of his supposed loyalty to the cause, this would definitely provide it.

Once back inside, he did just that. He went over every facet of the mission, spending time pouring over the bare bones of the plot. He joined Andren in the older man's study, explaining what he needed. Then, he withdrew. He dressed as if visiting an old friend and made sure nothing in his appearance seemed out of the ordinary. But, under his clothing, he carried everything he might need. Except a weapon. He'd have to confiscate that from some unlucky guard during the "rescue." And that portion of the plan worried Evan.

Closing his eyes, he cleared his mind. He felt as if he'd done this multiple times before, and he saw himself striding through the halls of the city in his dream. He was close to remembering everything. He could feel it. But right now was not the time to think about that. Right now, he had a chance to make a difference here.

A knock sounded at his door, and he opened it to see Andren dressed similarly to him. The doctor nodded. "It's time."

~TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note: **Contains spoilers for "The Queen" and minor ones for "Coup D'Etat." Enjoy! ~lg

oOo

John Sheppard hated having his attention divided. He'd just returned from his meeting with Todd in a less-than-pleasant mood, primarily because of Teyla's outrageous agreement to impersonate a Wraith queen. Todd had followed them back to Atlantis and would arrive with his Hive in three to four hours. That gave Teyla enough time to prepare Kanaan for the mission, as well as the rest of the team to prepare to see their close friend transformed into what they all hated.

Now, however, John had an unscheduled off world activation to handle. And not just any activation. Ladon Radim's IDC had been sent through the gate. With Woolsey still trying to make his way to the gate room, John bounded down the stairs and met Ladon and his sister just outside the portal. The familiar sense of distrust, something he'd been feeling since agreeing to meet with Todd, returned as he saw the Genii leader. He liked Radim a lot better than Cowen, but the man was still Genii.

"Colonel Sheppard." Radim smiled at him and the requisite security guards. "I trust you remember my sister, Dahlia."

John did remember Dahlia, a pretty blond who had nearly sacrificed her life for Cowen. When Radim staged his coup, she'd returned to her people healthy and happy. John nodded to her and looked back to Radim. "What do you want?"

Radim smiled politely. "Down to business, as usual." He turned to his sister. "Dahlia was recently promoted, and I agreed to buy her some art as a congratulatory gift."

John spared Dahlia another glance. "That's very nice, but we're busy." He turned to leave.

"I think you'll like what she bought." Ladon's voice stopped John's retreat. John whipped back around as Dahlia revealed the two paintings.

The first was tall and narrow, infused with golden-orange light and done in a style John recognized with a jolt. In the painting, Teyla stood in all her Athosian glory, one Bantos rod over her head with the other held out in front of her. The second painting, wider than it was tall, showed John sitting in front of a black and white poster that vaguely looked like his Johnny Cash poster. The stance—arms crossed and head cocked to one side—was unmistakable. John glanced down at the lower right-hand corner of the painting and blinked.

Ladon smiled. "Good enough for you?"

Rather than responding to the Genii leader, John touched the radio in his ear. "Mr. Woolsey and Dr. Keller to the conference room immediately."

oOo

Gaining access to the Ministry was relatively easy. Andren and Evan walked in the front door and headed straight for the center hallway at the intersection. Andren confided that his office was that direction, and they would strategize when they reached that privacy. Evan didn't like the last minute feel of the entire thing, but he'd packed enough supplies under his coat to improvise if necessary. Red paint, mixed with just enough blue and black to make it look authentic. He'd spent a lot of time and had even pricked his finger to get the color just right. Now, he just needed to convince Maitland that the best way for him to escape was to trust him.

In Andren's office, which looked remarkably similar to his home office, Evan moved to the window and looked out. The window opened onto a large square with picnic tables, a few trees, and a large number of people walking back and forth. The Ministry building formed two sides of the square, with the hospital and psychiatric center forming the other two. All four buildings were red brick, and the hospital rose three stories into the air. The psychiatric center and Ministry were only two stories tall. People entered from all four corners of the square, and Evan ironically noted that it would be a great place for snipers. His eyes scanned the rooftops, seeing all the different places that security guards and sharpshooters could hide.

"This isn't ideal," he muttered.

"I know." Andren had moved to his side. "But it is what we have."

Evan nodded and moved away from the window, knowing the other man was right. "I will go down to see Maitland as a friend. Meanwhile, you'll distract the guards by complaining over his condition if he's injured."

"And if he's not?"

Evan shrugged. "I have no intel to work with, Andren," he said, his frustration coming out in his voice. "I have a plan, but I'm probably going to wing it once I get inside."

"Wing it?"

"Improvise." Evan shook his head. "Why do I feel like I've done this before?"

"Because you probably have." Andren eyed him. "The other night was a breakthrough, wasn't it?"

Evan glanced up. "You want to discuss this _now_?"

"If things go badly, I want to know that you'll be able to find your way back to your people," Andren said.

Evan narrowed his eyes slightly. "Yeah, it was a breakthrough. I remember names. Sheppard. Coughlin. Jen."

"Jen?"

"She's. . ."

"Ah." Andren seemed to understand what he wasn't saying. "Then, odds are very good that you'll recover your memories very soon. You never know what could trigger them."

"I'd just like to do it _after_ we get Maitland out." Evan returned to the window, and the two men spent the next few moments rehearsing the plan.

oOo

Jennifer stared at the paintings on the table of the conference room. When John paged her, she thought it had something to do with Todd's proposal to morph Teyla into a Wraith queen. Now, she knew better. Ladon Radim and his sister sat in chairs, looking self-satisfied as the group gathered around the paintings.

Jennifer touched the small "EL" in the bottom right corner of the painting of Teyla. "He's alive," she whispered.

Woolsey shifted in his chair. "At least, he _was_ alive at the time those paintings were done." His skepticism doused Jennifer's joy. She glared at him and opened her mouth to let him know exactly how she felt, but Rodney's hand on her arm stopped her.

John leaned toward the bureaucrat. "And he's still alive." He glared. "I'm going to get him."

"Colonel Sheppard, I understand your desire to recover your missing officer, but think about this." Woolsey glanced at Ladon and Dahlia. "Is this the time to mount a rescue mission with your other mission looming so close?"

John glanced at Rodney. "When does he arrive?" he asked, keeping the particulars very vague.

Rodney didn't even look at his tablet. "Two-and-a-half to three hours."

"Plenty of time." John glanced over at Teyla. "You okay if we take off?"

Teyla nodded once. "Yes, John. And I will come with you."

"Teyla. . . ."

"Major Lorne is my friend, as well." She took a step forward. "I will _not _allow myself to be kept from his rescue for anything."

Jennifer watched the show of loyalty and looked at John. "And I'm coming, too."

"Doc." John's meaning came through with that one word. He didn't want her in the mix in case Evan was severely injured.

Jennifer lifted her chin. "If he's injured, you will need a doctor. I'm going."

Woolsey loudly cleared his throat, clearly calling for everyone's attention.

John got the message. "I'm not asking for permission, Woolsey. As military commander of this base, it's my prerogative when it involves the military operations. This mission is to rescue my missing second-in-command." He glanced at Jennifer and Rodney as he touched the radio in his ear. "Sheppard to Teldy. Get your team geared up. Full tactical. We'll meet in the Jumper bay in ten minutes."

Jennifer rushed out of the conference room and ran toward the infirmary. Her heart pounded in time to her footsteps. Evan was alive! The excitement that welled up inside made her want to squeal and jump up and down. She burst into the infirmary in time to see Susanna finish speaking with Dr. Cole. The southern woman, who had become a friend in the last couple of days, turned to her. "Dr. Keller, I was wonderin' if you'd like to join me for lunch."

Jennifer skidded to a stop. "I'd love to, but I've got a mission."

Cole moved to Susanna's side. "There's news on Major Lorne."

Jennifer nodded. "He's alive!"

"Oh, Jennifer, that's wonderful." Cole pulled her into a warm hug while Jennifer allowed herself a moment to celebrate. Then, Cole pushed her away. "Now, get packing! You don't want to miss _this_ flight!"

oOo

Evan found Maitland's cell with little trouble. Of course, Andren's presence helped, as did Evan's own status as a hero. One of the guards was related to Josus, and Evan used that. He walked down the aisle, seeing the tiny cells that housed Talgrom's most violent criminals. Or so he'd been told. He came to the one on the end and stopped to stare.

Maitland lay in a patch of sunlight, limbs akimbo as if he'd just been tossed inside. His chest moved up and down in shallow breaths, and his face looked like he'd become well-acquainted with the butt end of a rifle. Evan knew what sort of headache that could bring on and absently touched the tiny scar left on his hairline. His eyes quickly assessed Maitland's condition, and he hoped that the man was merely resting after his interrogation.

Andren moved to Evan's side, doing his own assessment as the guard opened the gate. "This is. . . ." Andren shook his head.

Evan nodded once, not really surprised that Culver had stooped to having the man tortured. It was a common form of intelligence gathering, and he'd seen it in several different forms over the years. Or so he thought. _A hand slammed into a man's chest, causing incredible pain and making the man—Sheppard—cry out in agony. He turned from the image, but the scream echoed in his ears._ Pushing the memories aside, he knelt next to Maitland and touched the man's arm.

Maitland stirred with a groan and blinked up at Andren. "What are you doing here?" he asked in a whisper.

Evan exchanged a glance with Andren. "Helping you."

"Get out of here." Maitland pushed Evan's hands away. "Just promise me you'll look after Kaela."

Evan wanted to roll his eyes at that. He'd never been one for melodrama, but he could understand. Maitland likely thought he would die. Instead of letting the man dictate how things were going to happen, Evan reached inside his pocket and pulled out the paint he'd mixed. "See this? It's paint. We're going to put it on you so that it looks like you're more seriously injured than you really are."

Andren nodded. "But for that to happen, you must put some of it in your mouth."

Evan glanced up. "Is that safe?"

Andren shrugged. "As safe as can be. It will taste awful, but we must simulate internal bleeding to get out of this cell." Turning back to Maitland, he asked, "Did you tell Culver anything?"

Maitland shook his head. "No."

"Good." Andren motioned toward the packet in Evan's hand. "It will be a short time in your mouth, and then you can drink water. But I must get you out of here."

"Okay." Maitland listened carefully as Andren gave him directions. He willingly took the packet of paint from Evan's hand and allowed Andren to help him fill his mouth with it. Grimacing at the taste, he gagged, and the paint went everywhere. Down his chin, across Andren's shoes, and splattered on Evan's coat. Evan dryly thought that the taste of the paint had helped their cause. While Maitland continued to wretch, Andren rushed to the bars and started hollering to the guards.

"Get me a gurney! This man needs medical attention immediately!"

The guards, clearly unprepared for the emergency, looked dazed as they peered in on Maitland writhing on the ground and the "blood" splattered everywhere. Andren reached through the bars and grabbed one of their sleeves. "This man is about to bleed to death! He's got internal bleeding of some sort, and I need to get him to the medical center immediately! Do you understand?"

The guard unlocked the door, and Evan slipped one of Maitland's arms over his shoulder. Lifting the other man to his feet, he took Maitland's full weight as Andren pushed the guards to the side. He continued to spout orders. "Get me a gurney immediately! We're going to meet it at the emergency entrance!"

Evan dragged Maitland out the door, grateful that the other man had figured out the necessity of playing "dead." Maitland's head bobbed forward, the paint still dripping from his mouth in a rather convincing fashion. Andren rushed around the guards and took some of his weight, leaving Evan grateful that the doctor knew his way around the Ministry. He warily thought that things might be going a little too smoothly as they approached the rear exit. Hopefully, a gurney would be awaiting them outside, in the square, as they rushed Maitland toward the medical center and his freedom.

Just as the door to the square came into sight, however, another door ahead of them opened up. Grian and Culver came through and glared at the three men. Evan froze, as did Andren, less than three feet from them. Culver glared. "Where do you think you're taking my prisoner?"

oOo

Leaving Evan to take all of Maitland's weight, Andren rushed Culver and Grian. He'd worked with these men for years, and he'd never seen the glint that shined in Culver's eyes. Grian was known for his harsh ways, and it had apparently worn off on Culver. It was a shame, really. Andren had actually liked Culver in the beginning.

The Prime Minister ducked behind Grian, and a shot sounded in the corridor. It deafened Andren, and he felt the agony rip through his abdomen. His forward momentum knocked Grian off his feet, and he desperately grappled for the gun. Another shot sounded, this one from behind him. More pain bloomed in his back, and he rolled off of Grian. Evan and Maitland were nowhere around, having used the distraction to escape out the door. Andren smiled at Culver. "You've lost."

Culver knelt over him. "You're wrong. I've won."

Andren coughed, real blood coming out of his mouth as his pain started to diminish slightly. "No." He chuckled. "You just revealed yourself. And you won't. . . ."

He didn't finish the statement. Grian's gun sounded one more time in the corridor, and everything was silent.

oOo

"Run! Run! Run!" Evan pushed Maitland out the rear door and across the square. The two made quite the pair with red paint covering them and Maitland's already battered condition. But the other man regained his feet and headed for the far corner. Nurses and women screamed as gunshots sounded from behind them. Maitland slowed again, and Evan shoved his shoulder in an attempt to keep the man moving forward.

Shouts sounded from all around, and Evan caught sight of the sharpshooters he'd worried about taking up positions on top of the hospital and psychiatric center. He bobbed and weaved his way through fleeing civilians and governmental officials, hoping the chaos would give him a slight bit of cover. If he stopped running, he died. Memories flowed through his head, of running to the Ring, being stunned, evading bullets, and any number of other scenarios similar to this one.

A sound overhead cut through the chaos, and Evan glanced up in time to see two cylindrical ships gliding through the air toward them. More screams sounded, but the sharpshooters Evan had noticed had taken up defensive positions, their weapons aimed at the ships rather than the two men. He turned to Maitland. "Go! Use the distraction!"

Maitland listened, and Evan took two more steps as he glanced at the two ships. One nosed downward, and Evan blinked.

_Puddle Jumpers. Atlantis. San Francisco. Earth. Jennifer. He was a major in the U.S. Air Force, a man responsible for more than just a four-person team. He had an entire base that relied on him, and his CO—Sheppard—relied on him to keep things running smoothly. And Jennifer. . .She was Chief of Medicine. A doctor and the woman he truly loved even though he'd not allowed himself to express those emotions except for that one night._

_The scene of their kiss snapped into focus. He'd just returned from a difficult mission, and she'd just watched a member of Sheppard's team detox from the Wraith enzyme. They'd both been tired, but there had been more to the moment. And he knew it._

In that instant, Evan Lorne knew who he was.

Sound rushed back in as Maitland called his name. Evan shook away the memories as he heard Culver's shout behind him. That man called for the soldiers to stop Evan's escape, but he was cut off by one of the Jumpers that landed between him and the two fleeing men.

The back hatch of a Jumper lowered. Sheppard appeared, his hair defying gravity as usual. "Lorne! In here!"

Evan snagged Maitland's sleeve, and the two men dove into the Jumper as the sharpshooters opened fire.

oOo

Late that night, Evan shifted in the infirmary bed as he listened to Jennifer telling Sheppard about Teyla's surgery. Earlier that day, after diving into the Jumper, he'd been relieved to find familiar faces smiling at him. Sheppard had wasted no time in taking off, much to Culver's consternation. And Maitland had earned himself a first-class stay in Atlantis's infirmary.

So many things had returned to Evan, and he planned to visit Orenth again as soon as things returned to normal. Which hopefully meant tomorrow. He had paintings at Andren's to recover, as well as Maitland's request for asylum for himself and Andren's family. Sheppard hadn't been happy when they returned to Atlantis, and Woolsey had seemed less than impressed. But Evan was home. And relatively happy. He had one more thing to do, but he couldn't complete that until after he'd gathered some things from Andren's family home on the beach.

Jennifer headed his way, her eyes sparkling as she smiled at him. He sat up in the bed, the white scrubs she'd made him change into seeming bright against the tan he'd acquired while swimming in the ocean near Andren's home. "Hey, doc."

"Major." She pulled the curtain around his bed, and her guarded expression fell away. Only a smile and tears remained in it's place.

"Hey." He pushed out of bed, not minding the cold tile against his bare feet. Jennifer wanted him kept overnight for observation. She'd mentioned being worried that he'd suffered from amnesia for so long. He was perfectly healthy, but he agreed to stay if only to be close to her. Ignoring her folded arms, he held her close. She moved, slipping her arms around his waist as he buried his face in her hair. She smelled of jasmine and roses. He loved this woman, and this moment proved it. They faced some hard days ahead, but they could make it. He truly believed that.

She finally pulled back, her smile still in place in spite of the tears she'd shed into his shoulder. "I'm glad you're back."

"Me, too." He settled his arms around her, not willing to let her go. "Jen. . . ."

She put a finger on his lips. "There's something I wanted to ask you about."

"Okay." He met her eyes. "What's on your mind?"

To his surprise, she flushed. "Um. . .remember what happened after Ronon. . .I mean, when we, uh. . . ."

"When I kissed you?"

She gave him a relieved smile. "Yeah." After blinking a few times, she stared at him with those amazing brown eyes. "I can't forget it."

"Neither can I." He shook his head. "The whole time I didn't have any memories, I remembered that kiss."

Jennifer's smile widened. "Really?"

"Yep."

"Wow." She flushed yet again, but her eyes never turned away from his. "Would you mind. . .?"

"Reminding you?" he asked, finishing her statement. When she smiled, he laughed. "Gladly."

Sliding his hand along her jaw, Evan Lorne fulfilled the one desire that had kept him sane the entire time he'd been on Orenth. He kissed his dream lady.

~TBC


	12. Chapter 12

**Author's Note:** A special thank you goes to **theicemenace**, who patiently beta'd everything and caught my silly mistakes. And to **Ani-Maniac494** for doing the same and just being a friend. And a shout-out to Gateworld for the use of their transcripts. I hope everyone has enjoyed this little plot bunny. ~lg

oOo

It actually took two days for Evan to return to Orenth. In that time, he allowed Jennifer to do all the tests that she wanted while enjoying her smile every time she glanced at him. When she finally released him from the infirmary, he walked straight to her office and found her typing a report. One of his paintings hung above her desk, and he grinned. "Hey, Doc."

Jennifer looked up. "Major."

"Hey, remember last night?" He watched while her face heated. They'd shared several sweet kisses after their private reunion and had talked late into the night. "Maybe we should drop the rank."

She grinned. "I think I can do that."

"Good." He pointed at the painting. "It looks nice there."

Jennifer glanced back at the painting and met his eyes. "Colonel Sheppard hung it there a few weeks ago. He wanted me to have something. . . ."

"To remind you of me?" Evan asked with a raised eyebrow.

"To give me hope." She stood and walked around her desk, leaning against the edge. "It was hard having you gone."

He let out a deep breath. "It was hard being gone." Rather than following that train of thought, he met her eyes. "How's Maitland?"

Jennifer turned back to her desk. "He's as well as can be expected for a man who's just been beaten. He's showing minor lead poisoning thanks to that stunt with the paint, but that may have saved his life. He had two cracked ribs, and one had splintered against his lung. If he'd taken one more blow in that spot, he could have punctured a lung and died. Your little trick got him out of the cell and away from the torture."

Evan nodded. "It was all I could think of under the circumstances."

"And he'll be fine."

"He's already asking to go back."

Jennifer blinked at him. "Excuse me?"

Evan held up a hand. "He left someone back there. Kaela, the daughter of the doctor I stayed with, went to visit her family in the countryside. I think Andren did that to protect her and her mother. But Maitland wants to return and bring them here. Away from the war."

"Will Mr. Woolsey allow that?"

"Don't know." He straightened. "But I plan to ask him."

"Good luck." Jennifer smiled at him, and Evan was tempted to steal another kiss before leaving. Instead, he gave her a glance that told her that they would talk later.

Woolsey was surprisingly willing to allow Evan one return trip to Orenth when he fully explained the situation. He apologized that it had taken so long for Atlantis to find them, and Evan walked away with the feeling that the man had been put in his place by Sheppard. It felt good to be home, however, and Evan spent the remainder of the day strolling the corridors of the city and reacquainting himself with the flow of life. He would return to Earth soon, to see his sister and two nephews. He hoped to take the painting of the two boys to her. But, for now, he simply breathed in the salty ocean air and smiled.

Life was good.

oOo

Returning to Orenth was as easy as it sounded. Evan flew a Jumper through the gate and cloaked the moment they rematerialized. Flying over the city of Talgrom, he glanced at Maitland in the copilot's chair. They would stop at Andren's ocean-side home before Maitland guided him to Kaela's family home. The man was clearly concerned about Kaela, especially with Andren's death so recent. But Evan had a different goal.

Setting the Jumper down on the beach, Evan lowered the back hatch. He and Maitland walked out, and he cloaked the Jumper using the remote in his pocket. It felt good to be wearing his uniform again, and the weight of the TAC vest and P90 made him smile. He'd have to get accustomed to this P90 as his preferred weapon was lost when Derron captured him. Still, the sense of familiarity was heartwarming.

Leaving Maitland to wander the beach while he retrieved his belongings, Evan climbed the stairs to the back of Andren's home. He felt sadness for the loss of the doc's life, but he could not mourn. Not yet. There would be time when Teyla returned from playing Wraith queen and he'd settled back into life in Atlantis. Before he could settle, though, he needed to resolve a few issues.

The first was Kaela, though he suspected that he'd resolved that issue when he absentmindedly left his sketchpad out. His nightmare had been intense, and the images he'd drawn from it looked like a horror comic book. He didn't even want to look at them.

Secondly, he wanted his relationship with Jennifer established. The two of them had talked about their feelings during that first night he was back on Atlantis, and he'd been pleasantly surprised to find that she shared the same thoughts he had. They should be together. In fact, she'd turned down McKay to wait for him. Evan couldn't describe how that made him feel, but he intended to make sure she was treated right for the rest of his life. They may have been new to their relationship, but Evan knew where his heart was headed. He knew that Jennifer was The One.

Upstairs, he found his room undisturbed. Glancing out the window, he saw Maitland looking out to sea and rushed to grab the paintings he'd left behind. The two boys splashing in the surf would go home to Earth with him once Kaela, Maeryn, and Maitland were settled. The one of Jennifer would be given to her later that evening. Evan grinned as he thought about his plans and wrestled the paintings and his sketchpad down the stairs and back to the Jumper. Maitland came without a word, and they took off toward the countryside.

Maeryn and Kaela had taken refuge in a large farmhouse about a day's train ride outside of Talgrom. The short time the Jumper took to get to the farmhouse surprised Maitland, and Evan merely smiled at the man's shocked exclamation. Once there, he landed the Jumper a good distance away, and the two men hiked the remainder of the way to the farmhouse.

Maeryn opened the door, her expression guarded until she recognized Evan. She flew down the steps and into his arms, hugging him the way he remembered his mother hugging him after he'd come home from Atlantis that first time. He let his arms go around her as Kaela appeared in the door behind her. Finally, Maeryn raised her head and speared him with a direct stare. "Andren?"

Evan shook his head, every ounce of regret he felt coming through in that one motion.

Maeryn nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "I knew it!" She drew in a shaky breath. "He tried to warn. . . ." Her voice choked, and Evan pulled her back into a hug as Kaela drew close. The younger woman had apparently deduced the reason for her mother's tears and also cried. Evan reached for her and let her cry on his other shoulder. As he stood there, both women weeping, he realized that he could have found a place in this family. His feelings for Kaela ran toward those of a sibling, and he knew Jennifer would be secure enough to realize that he would look out for these women.

Finally, Kaela pulled away and turned to Maitland. As she went to Maitland, Evan gave Maeryn enough time to gather her thoughts. She wiped her face. "I'm sorry, Evan. So very sorry we kept you from your home."

"You didn't keep me." Evan let out a deep breath. "You're not responsible for what happened. But I have remembered, and that's what's important."

Maeryn nodded and eyed his uniform. "So, you are a soldier."

He realized that she was curious about his life. "Yeah. Ah. . .actually, I'm second-in-command of the military base I'm from."

"And that is?"

"Atlantis."

Her eyes widened. "The City of the Ancestors?"

"One and the same." Evan motioned over his shoulder, where Maitland still held Kaela close although the younger woman was no longer crying. "Maitland has requested asylum for you and your daughter, and it's been granted. If you'd like to come."

Maeryn's eyes went to the farmhouse, to the sky, and to the Jumper. "We'd never see Orenth again."

"No." Evan hated the abundance of bad news he'd given over the last few moments, but she needed to know.

"We're not welcome here, anyway." She blinked back a few more tears. "While you've been gone, Culver has lost ground. Two more regions have seceded and joined Derron's cause."

"His government fell apart." Evan nodded. He thought about the collapse of the Soviet Union and idly thought that he should get up to speed on what this planet might need. There were likely to be a lot of innocent refugees just like Kaela and Maeryn who would need medical aid and a safe place to go. Turning to Maeryn, he said, "You'll be given a new home on a new world. A way to support yourselves."

"A new life." Maeryn blinked slowly and turned toward the farmhouse. "How long do I have to pack my things?"

Evan stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "Are you certain you want to leave?"

She nodded. "Andren is dead," she said, her grief making her voice squeak. "I have nothing here, and my daughter and I cannot return to Talgrom. Culver will hunt us down and kill us simply for being Andren's family. I may not be in politics, Evan, but I know my husband was in too deep to get out. He told me everything the day we left our home." She shook her head. "I took the things I could not live without because I knew I would not be back."

Evan squeezed her shoulder and let her go. She grabbed her daughter's arm, and the two women returned to the house. Rather than saying anything to Maitland, Evan took up a guard position on the front porch. No one knew he was here, and the Jumper remained cloaked. Still, he wanted to remain vigilant.

Maeryn and Kaela reappeared less than twenty minutes later, their bags dragging the ground behind them. Evan heaved the largest onto his shoulder and led the way from the farmhouse, leaving Maitland to help the women as they carried the lighter valises they'd packed. At the Jumper, he lowered the cloak and gave both women a reassuring smile as they responded to the advanced technology. They followed him inside, their eyes wide as they inspected every inch of the place. Evan reactivated the cloak as he closed the back hatch, giving them time to become comfortable with their new reality.

Settling into the pilot's chair, he watched Maitland give his front-row seat to Kaela. Maeryn settled behind her daughter. Evan glanced at the two women. "Ready?"

Maeryn nodded, and Evan lifted the Jumper from the ground and took them to their new lives.

oOo

Late that evening, Jennifer walked onto the balcony Evan had told her about in his email that afternoon. Teyla had returned to Atlantis and begun the transformation into her human form. It would take two weeks for the changes Todd had made to wear off, and Jennifer needed to be vigilant. But, for now, she decided to leave the infirmary in Cole's capable hands and spend some time with Evan.

That man stood with his elbows leaned on the railing of the balcony, the ocean breeze ruffling his freshly cut hair. After his return from Orenth, he'd seen the base barber and had a lot of extra length cut from his hair. Jennifer liked this freshly-groomed look. The longer, floppy hair was endearing, but Evan had always been a military man. He looked best when he was clean-cut.

He turned and caught sight of her. "Hey, Jen."

She smiled and joined him when he held out a hand, loving how he laced their fingers together. Letting him pull her close, she propped one hand on the railing and leaned her head on his shoulder. "This is nice."

"It is," he agreed. They stood like that for a long time, letting the silence speak for them. These moments, when he didn't try to make her world okay and when she wasn't working to make him feel better, meant more to her than almost any words he could say. Finally, he stirred. "I have something for you."

Jennifer released his hand as he moved to a corner of the balcony. She watched as he retrieved a painting roughly the same size as the one of Teyla and turned it to face her. She blinked and stared as he held the image almost as if it were priceless. In the painting, she wore a long, flowing, off-the-shoulder gown as she walked up stone steps from a beach. She stared at the detail, loving the way he used the light to brighten her hair and give the entire thing an ethereal feel. "I'm not that pretty."

Evan actually laughed. "You haven't looked in the mirror, then." He sobered quickly as he put the painting in her hands. "Jen, I may not have remembered your name, but I never forgot you. I knew I loved you from the moment I woke up, and I never gave up believing I would find my way back here."

His words brought her head up, and she blinked back her tears. "You love _me_?" She wished her voice hadn't squeaked with that last word, but she could do nothing about it.

"Yep." He rocked back on his heels, seeming somewhat sheepish. "I wasn't planning on saying that today. Just so you know."

Jennifer stared at him for a few moments. He loved her. It meant more to hear him say that than he knew, and she carefully set aside the painting to rush into his arms. As he held her close, she gazed up into his eyes. "This may be too early for such things, but I love you, too!"

He smiled. "Early, yes. But I don't intend to take things too fast. Just fast enough that we're both happy."

"I can handle that." Jennifer sighed happily as he kissed her again, and they stayed on the balcony until late that night. When Evan escorted her to her quarters, he held her hand the entire way and never once acknowledged the glances people gave them. A lot of the military personnel patted his shoulder and welcomed him home, but Jennifer didn't mind. She had Evan.

At her quarters, he stepped inside long enough to put the painting against the wall. At the door, he touched her face. "I learned a lot on Orenth, Jen. I learned about what makes a man. It's not what he does that matters. It's not his money or anything. It's the people he has in his life." He flattened his hand against her face. "Thank you for still being here when I came home."

"You're welcome." She shrugged. "I couldn't go anywhere else."

"Good." In full view of the corridor, Evan leaned forward and kissed her one more time. He said a quick goodnight after that, and Jennifer watched him leave with a smile. She couldn't know what tomorrow held, but she knew one thing. Evan Lorne was home. He loved her. And that made life worth living.

~The End~


End file.
